t
my last will and testament for me," Jerry replied, with a demure smile.

"So serious as all that?" York inquired, gravely, picking up a blank
lease form as if to write.

"So, and worse," Jerry assured him. But in an instant her face was
grave. "You know my present situation," she began, "and that I must
decide at once what to do, and then _do_ it. I'm so grateful that you
understand and do not try to offer me friendship for service."

York looked at her earnest face and glowing dark-blue eyes wonderingly.
This girl was forever surprising him, either by flippant indifference or
by unexpected insight.

"You know a lot about my affairs, of course," Jerry went on, hurriedly.
"Aunt Darby offered both of us--me, I mean, a home with her, a life of
independent dependence on her--charity--for that, at bottom, was all
that it was. And when I refused her offer she simply cut me until such
time as I shall repent and go back. Then the same thing would be waiting
for me. I know now that it was really wilfulness and love of adventure
that most influenced me to break away from Philadelphia and--and its
flesh-pots. But, York, I don't want to go back--not yet awhile, anyhow."

It was the first time she had ever called him by that name, and it sent
a thrill through her listener.

"Is it wilfulness and love of adventure still, or something else, that
holds you here 'yet awhile'?" York asked, with kindly seriousness.

"Oh, wait and see!" Jerry returned.

"She is not going to be _led_, whichever way she goes. I told Laura
so," was York's mental comment.

"Does this finish your 'confession'?" he asked.

"I may as well tell you the other side of the story." Jerry's voice
trembled a little. "Cousin Gene Wellington was in the same boat with me,
a dependent like myself. But now that he has given up to Aunt Jerry's
wishes, I suppose he will be her heir some day, unless I go back and get
forgiven."

"This artist's father was in business with your father once, wasn't he?"
York asked.

"Yes, and there was something I never could understand, and Aunt Jerry
never mentioned, about that; but she did say often that Cousin Gene
would make up for what John Wellington lacked, if things went her way.
They haven't all gone her way--only half of them, so far."

"Do you fully understand what you are giving up, Jerry?" York asked,
earnestly. "That life might be a much pleasanter story back East, even
if it were a bit less romantic than the story