My dear Stephen, I give you my word that I very nearly put my nose in the air and howled. She _is_ a captive maid--captive to her talent and the fat song-bird and her mother's ambition and yours, and her mother's determination not to let her marry her lad, and to that Carter chap, and the boy playing the flute--the whole network of you,--but she's dreaming of the Sky Blue Water, and dreaming is doing with that child. You'd best make up your minds to it, and settle some money on them and marry them off. My word, Stephen, is there so much of it lying about in the world that you can afford to be reckless with it? I arrived too late to see her before the concert, and I went behind--together with the bulk of the American and English colonies--directly it was over. She was tremendously glad to see me; I was a sort of link, you know. When I started in to tell her how splendidly she'd sung and how every one was rejoicing she said, "Yes,--thanks--isn't every one sweet? But did Stepper write you that Jimsy was 'Varsity Captain this year, and that they beat Berkeley twelve to five? And that Jimsy made _both_ touchdowns? Do you remember that game you saw with us--and how Jimsy ran down the field and shook hands with the boy who'd scored on us? And how that gave every one confidence again, and we won? We _always_ won!"--and standing there with her arms full of flowers and all sorts of really important people waiting to pat her on the head, she hummed that old battle song: _You can't beat L. A. High!_ _You can't beat L. A. High!_ and her eyes filled up with tears and she gave me her jolly little grin and said, "Oh, Miss Bruce-Drummond, I can hardly wait to get back to real living again!" Honor was honestly happy over her success. It was good to satisfy--and more than satisfy--the kind _Signorina_ and all the genial and interested people she had come to know there; to send her program and her clippings home to her mother; it was jolly to be asked out to luncheon and dinner and tea and to be made much of; it was best of all to have something tangible to give up for Jimsy. If she had failed, going back to him and settling quietly down with him would have seemed like running to sanctuary; now--with definite promises and hard figures offered her--it was more than a gesture of renunciation. She could understand adoring a life of that sort if she hadn't Jimsy; as it was she listened sedately to the _Signorina's_ happy burblings and said at intervals: "But you know, _Signorina_ dear, that I'm going to give it up and be married next year?" "You cannot give it up, my poor small one. It will not give you up. It has you, one may truly say, by the throat!" There was no use in arguing with her. The interim had to be filled until summer and home. She would do, docilely, whatever the _Signorina_ wished.