impudence,
and he was so handsome that she could not refuse to enjoy it with him.
She asked him if he would not have a fan, and he allowed her to get it
for him from the mantel. "Will you have some tea?"

"No; but a glass of water, if you please," he said, and Bessie rang and
sent for some apollinaris, which Jeff drank a great goblet of when it
came. Then he lay back in the deep chair he had taken, with the air of
being ready for any little amusing thing she had to say.

"Are you still a pessimist, Mr. Durgin?" she asked, tentatively, with
the effect of innocence that he knew meant mischief.

"No," he said. "I'm a reformed optimist."

"What is that?"

"It's a man who can't believe all the good he would like, but likes to
believe all the good he can."

Bessie said it over, with burlesque thoughtfulness. "There was a
girl here to-day," she said, solemnly, "who must have been a reformed
pessimist, then, for she said the same thing."

"Oh! Miss Enderby," said Jeff.

Bessie started. "You're preternatural! But what a pity you should be
mistaken. How came you to think of her?"

"She doesn't like me, and you always put me on trial after she's been
here."

"Am I putting you on trial now? It's your guilty conscience! Why
shouldn't Mary Enderby like you?"

"Because I'm not good enough."

"Oh! And what has that to do with people's liking you? If that was a
reason, how many friends do you think you would have?"

"I'm not sure that I should have any."

"And doesn't that make you feel badly?"

"Very." Jeff's confession was a smiling one.

"You don't show it!"

"I don't want to grieve you."

"Oh, I'm not sure that would grieve me."

"Well, I thought I wouldn't risk it."

"How considerate of you!"

They had come to a little barrier, up that way, and could go no further.
Jeff said: "I've just been interviewing another reformed pessimist."

"Mr. Westover?"

"You're preternatural, too. And you're not mistaken, either. Do you ever
go to his studio?"

"No; I haven't been there since he told me it would be of no use to come
as a student. He can be terribly frank."

"Nobody knows that better than I do," said Jeff, with a smile for the
notion of Westover's frankness as he had repeatedly experienced it. "But
he means well."

"Oh, that's what they always say. But all the frankness can't be well
meant. Why should uncandor be the only form of malevolence?"

"That's a good idea. I believe I'll put that up on West