But the girl did not find it easy to answer.
'I have no one else--' she said at last, and then stopped abruptly.
'She is home-sick'-- said Mrs.Burgoyne inwardly--'I wonder whether the Lewinsons treated her nicely at Florence ?' Indeed as Lucy Foster leant over the balcony, the olive-gardens and vineyards faded before her.

She saw in their stead, the snow-covered farms and fields of a New England valley--the elms in along village street, bare and wintry--a rambling wooden house--a glowing fire, in a simple parlour--an old man sitting beside it .-- It _is_ chilly'-- said Mrs.Burgoyne--'Let us go in.

But we will keep the window open.

Don't take that off.' She laid a restraining hand on the girl's arm.

Miss Foster sat down absently not far from the window.