And It wasn’t lovely Venice. It was
Venice without Henri—moonlight that
hurt, the painfully small swish of water
against a gondola, the poignant singing
of a gondolier, the great heart-breaking
ache of beauty unshared by ont whose
lover has died.
Even on the lovely Conde liner bound
for home and gliding like a great white
palace over an ocean blue as sapphire
and smooth as ice. June walked the
deck alone, a tragic depth in her lovely
eyes, a Madonna sadness on her deli
cate features. She was wholly unaware
that men were arranging elaborate coin
cidences in which to meet her. that
older women looking at her youth and
bearing sighed, and that at least two
youths from New England's best families
would go home with a slim golden ideal
fixed in their minds, which would haunt
tbem until they were old men.
TT WASN'T until she was on the last lap
*■ of her journey— on the local
which ran up to Marysdale —that June
forced herself out of her reverie. The
small fields rolling away from the train
were familiar now. She was coming home.
Soon she would adjust herself to the
dear familiar things —mother's boarding
house, inefficient Myra, who helped in
the kitchen and waited tables; old Jed,
who shaved twice a week and did odd
jobs about the yard and house, even
the horror of changing boarders, and the
kindergarten classes starting next week
They were all old and friendly. No one
would know she had been a fool. Surely
she could bear secretly the torment of
moonlit nights alone!
Old Jed met her at the train. He
was so glad to see her, he wiped a
gnarled hand on his baggy trousers and
pumped her arm warmly.
It was sundown and Marysdale was at
supper. All the prim New England cot
tages she had known since babyhood
were hushed for the evening meal, yards
abandoned. Life here was routine, com
fortable, unromantic. She bit her lips tn
effort to say the usual things cheerfully
to Jed.
For she realized, with a slow heavy
fear, that Henri had changed Marysdale
from a dear friendly village to a lonely,
empty foreign place.
"The chrysanthemums sure looks swell,
even yet, Miss June,” Jed was saying
proudly. There was more gray in the
stubble on his face than she had remem
bered. “Them chrysanthemums Is big
ger
"How's mother?” she Interrupted.
"Fine! Fine! Same as always. Got
two new boarders ”
a
In another minute she was In her
mother's arms aftd little Mrs. "Harring-*
ton's Jt ace wa.* shining with welcome. „
"Just in time for supper, June!” she
smiled.
ROMANCE COMES HOME - &SSSSSSS
>l^^ Pp*
*$ . *w^.
TEN minutes before midnight and she
felt herself the luckiest girl in the
strangest situation in the whole world
More like* a quaint story of knighthood
she thought, looking at the arched walls
of the lovely old medieval chateau and
at her bag with the soft evening wrap
thrown over it beside the window
She had never dreamed when she won
a trip to Europe as first prize in a con
test that anything like this could come
of it And it have except that
the first day at the Louvre she'd met
Comtesse de Leusse —who was really
Marion Courtney, of America, and who
was homesick and glad to see another
American girl.
So June had become the house guest
of Comtesse de Leusse —that was allow
able on her trip as long as the company
which sent her didn't have to pay for
stop-overs.
And meeting Henri had been— the
merest coincidence, he always declared.
It was true he certainly hadn't been at
that first elaborate party when Marion
had persuaded June to wear a de Leusse
necklace which had made her feel guiltily
more than ever like Cinderella.
Henri had come the day after the
party. Just happened by, he said. Had
alwa, been interested in the de Leusse
chateau, knowing it was one of the old
est in France. And he'd stopped in, to
learn — if the de Leusse family didn't
mind—more about it. And June had
been there!
The Comtesse had recognized Henri i
family name —Ecomard— and had intro
duced him enthusiastically. The Eco
mards were, she told June later, of the
oldest aristocracy, but so exclusive one
rarely saw them. She invited Henri to
the next party. And he had come.
That had been only a week ago. Seven
nights. And every night but one she had
seen Henri. Remembering, joy danced in
June's heart, lit candles in her blue, blue
eyes, twinkled on her lovely mouth and
gave radiance to the flushed beauty of
her face.
OEVEN minutes more, now, and she d
be in Henri's arms. The thought of
It lifted her almost out of herself. She
remembered his caresses, his quick, hot
kisses, the swift approval with which his
handsome dark eyes appraised her. To
think he could ever care for her— Jun?
Harrington, whose mother ran a board
ing house in Marysdale!
•
She hadn’t ever mentioned the board
ing house to him. She'd intended to, all
along, but
Only five minutes more by the little
Jewel-incrust ed watch Uncle Steve had
ftiven her before she left Marysdale. The
moon had' risen, whs casting an unreal |i
glamour about the chateau.
In the ritm light of her boudoir June
Ifuob arl horeolf neae n eimnla »illr