About it was the desolate, barren peace of an old house whose life is lived.

There was a very pretty house, with leaded casements and dubbed gables, just around the corner — a new house, one of those houses you love the minute you see them. Clayton Markley had built it for his bride. He was to be married to Jennie Lloyd in June. The little house, it was said, was furnished from attic to cellar, in complete readiness for its mistress.

“I don’t envy Jennie the man,” thought Valancy sincerely — Clayton Markley was not one of her many ideals — ”but I do envy her the house. It’s such a nice young house. Oh, if I could only have a house of my own — ever so poor, so tiny — but my own! But then,” she added bitterly, “there is