Before his letter was written the printers were already at work on The Unwise Virgins. The note from him which eventually reached Cordelia was brief, but to the point. It said: "MY DEAR MISS VAUGHAN: In reply to your inquiry of yesterday, I would state that we are reluctantly forced to abide strictly by the letter of our contract with you. It seems almost superfluous for us to point out that your name is now of such weight in the literary world that under no circumstances should we agree to any such terms as those you have been granted unless it had been most definitely understood the name of America's most illustrious author should go upon our season's lists. We are rushing work on the book; in fact, we hope to have it out by the end of the month. "Very truly yours, "HENRY H. SLATER." Cordelia, as she read and reread this letter, dimly felt that they were crushing her to the wall. She cried out, in her bewilderment, that they were giving her no chance. While she was still pondering over this confounding new turn of affairs she received a message from Repellier, asking if she would not drop up to his studio the following afternoon. She remembered that she and Hartley had planned to spend the afternoon in the Park. But some indefinite dread of yet meeting him face to face, a longing for some temporary escape from an ordeal which she had not the courage to go through, made her decide in favor of Repellier. But just why that stern-faced artist should want to see her she could not understand. Indeed, in her present mood she did not much care. CHAPTER XXIII TATTERED COLORS ... We see The sorrowing gods regretfully Bar out the bird, but after all How lightly song still leaps the wall! JOHN HARTLEY, "The Lost Voice." "But, after all, even without love, life is life," ventured Evelyn. The older woman sighed as she answered: "Yes, it is life, my child, but it is the axle of existence without grease." From an unpublished manuscript of CORDELIA VAUGHAN. Cordelia failed to understand why she should feel so nervous. She half wished, as she climbed the long stairs leading up to Repellier's studio, that she had kept her promise with Hartley, and spent the afternoon in the open air, in the Park, with him. She idly wondered how many more rides they should have together--as she pulled the dangling rabbit's-foot which Repellier affected for a bell-rope--suddenly whimsically curious to know if Hartley was missing her that afternoon. The old artist himself answered the ring, greeting her with a face that looked peculiarly aged and worn, she thought. As she stepped into the studio, notwithstanding her desire for perfect self-control, she could not help looking up at him with anxious and inquiring eyes--his solemnity frightened her.