and held open the door of honour. If she could only screw up
her courage to the sticking-point!

"All right! If you don't like me to mention it, I'll say nothing more.
I'm satisfied now I've let you know that your deed isn't absolutely
hidden under a bushel. You're famous, in spite of yourself. You darling!
I only wish I were worthier to be your friend."

Aldred shrank back at the words, and, disengaging Mabel's clinging arms,
made an excuse to hurry away. She had the grace to be thoroughly ashamed
of herself, and to feel that she could not bear any more praise at
present.

"Why didn't I tell?" she moaned, in an agony of remorse. "I know I'm
mean, and dishonest, and horrid, and the exact opposite of what she
supposes. What would Keith say, if he knew? He'd never forgive me. He
scolded me for not explaining that Mr. Bowden had painted part of my
picture, and this is twice as bad. Keith is so absolutely honourable! I
suppose I ought to go to Mabel now, and put things right. No, I can't! I
simply can't! It would be worse than ever. I couldn't force myself to
say it--the words would choke me!"

A letter from Keith had arrived only that morning, a particularly nice,
jolly letter, full of chatty news and of such affectionate enquiries
about her own doings at school that it seemed to bring her into closer
touch than usual with her brother. She wanted so much to stand well in
Keith's opinion; and she recalled with a groan what he had said to her
in the cornfield about her sketch: "Of all the sneaks, you're the
biggest!" and, "Be a little straighter in future, if you want to keep
chums with me." Yes, she was a sneak; it was not a pretty epithet, but
it was a true one. In Keith's eyes this affair would be serious; he
would never tolerate such conduct for one single moment. If she wished
to act up to his principles, she must undeceive Mabel immediately, her
own self-respect told her that. Yet she could not bring herself to do
it, and for a whole week she wavered, her conscience reproaching her
bitterly, and her pride pleading and ever pleading to put off the evil
moment.

"It's impossible to tell her straight out," she decided at last. "I'll
write a letter and give it to her; that will be much easier, because I
needn't stay to watch her read it. I know Keith would have gone and
owned up; but then, I'm not Keith--I always mind things so much more
than he does."

Having resolved to make an explanation through the medium of p