ll along. Why, if such a thing had happened to me, I
should go round shouting it from the house-tops. I don't suppose he
knew what he was doing, or else he didn't care; perfectly desperate.
What _fun_!"

Cornelia kept laughing, but Charmian stopped and waited a moment and
listened. "Why, Cornelia!" she said remorsefully, entreatingly, but she
remained the length of the room away. Then she approached tentatively,
and when Cornelia suddenly ceased to laugh she put her hand on her
head, and tenderly lifted her face. It was dabbled with tears.
"Cornelia!" she said again.

Cornelia sprang to her feet with a fierceness that sent her flying some
yards away. "Charmian Maybough! Will you ever speak of this to any
living soul?"

"No, no! Indeed I won't----" Charmian began.

"Will you ever _think_ of it!"

"No----"

"Because I don't choose to have you think I am such a fool as
to--to----"

"No, indeed, I don't."

"Because there isn't anything of it, and it wouldn't mean anything, if
there were."

"No," said Charmian. "The only thing is to tear him out of your heart;
and I will help you!" She made as if she were ready to begin then, and
Cornelia broke into a genuine laugh.

"Don't be ridiculous. I guess there isn't much to tear."

"Then what are you going to do?"

"Nothing! What can I! There isn't anything to do anything about. If
it's there, he knows it, and he's left it there because he didn't care
what we thought. He was just trying something. He's always treated me
like a perfect--child. That's all there is of it, and you know it."

"Yes," Charmian meekly assented. Then she plucked up a spirit in
Cornelia's behalf. "The only thing is to keep going on the same as
ever, and show him we haven't seen anything, and don't care if we
have."

"No," said Cornelia sadly, "I shall not come any more. Or, if I do, it
will just be to---- I'm not certain yet what I shall do." She
provisionally dried her eyes and repaired her looks at the little
mirror which hung at one side of the mantel, and then came back to
Charmian who stood looking at Cornelia's sketches, still in the order
Ludlow had left them in. She stole her arm round Cornelia's waist.
"Well, anyway, he can't say _you've_ returned the compliment. They're
perfectly magnificent, every one; and they're all _me_. Now we can
_both_ live for art."

XXVI.

Wetmore came the next morning with Ludlow, and looked at Cornelia's
studies. "Well, there's no doubt abo