Paradise Ward was indeed a marvel of beauty, from the fairy stories in fresco upon the walls to the dainty little fountains that sent music and perfume throughout the apartment. There were the cushioned rolling chairs with the dearest little tables and pockets that held dolls and toys and picture books of just the right size for frail little hands. There were cages of charming love birds that never wearied one with piercing songs. There were the little white-and-gold beds, with lilies and roses at head and foot, blooms that never faded or grew limp with age; there were small bookcases that one might whirl and whirl and find the very book that was wanted; there was a glass-doored cupboard that held the loveliest of little and middling-sized china plates and cups and saucers, just big enough for small people to eat from, and they had wreaths of pansies and sprays of checkerberries, for one to look at while eating. Then, there were the dearest, littlest dishes for the dollies, too, so that they could eat their dinners with their mammas--oh, wonderful things could be found in those pretty cupboards! Plants and vines grew and bloomed all over the big room, and clocks!--such delightful clocks! In one lived a cuckoo that came outside every half-hour, just long enough to tell its name. And there was a bigger clock upon which perched an owl, and the owl would say, “Tu-whoo!” or “Tu-whoo! whoo! whoo!” according to whether it was one o’clock or three. And all the little folks that lived in Paradise Ward knew it was the loveliest place in the world, for nobody ever told them that the reason they were brought to so beautiful a home was because they would never be well again as long as they lived. Polly Dudley had not seen David or heard from him since the night of Patricia’s birthday fête. That was eight days ago. It might as well have been eight months or eight years--so Polly felt. She was weary with the ache of it. She wondered for the thousandth time if she had done right to leave him so abruptly. Perhaps she had been too harsh. She could not decide, and as the days numbered more and more, her sorrow and restlessness increased. Her father and mother were in hearty accord with the stand she had taken, yet even their sanction did not bring her peace. So often before these dreary days had she dreamed of wide estrangement between her and David, and had been thankful even to tears when she had come to herself to find she had been only dreaming. But from this there was no awakening. Yet there were hours when it seemed as if the trouble must be unreal. She and David drifting farther and farther apart never to meet again in the old way! No, that could not be true!