u know she never had her
lighter vein developed. Our city connection is awfully proper and
cultivated. I always knew auntie was a Bohemian, and up here--she's
plunging!"

"Umph! And you?"

"Oh! I'm getting--material."

"Excuse me." Jock passed his hand over his mouth. "There are times when
I think you're a comicaller little cuss than your brother!"

"Mr. Filmer!"

"Oh, come down! Mr. Filmer don't go in the woods in the middle of
winter. What do you want for your Christmas?"

"When you make fun of me"--the girl was trying hard not to laugh--"you
anger me beyond--expression."

A guffaw greeted this. Then:

"What was you making in your little book when I came up?"

"Character sketches."

"Sho! Let's have a look. I like pictures."

"They're pen-pictures."

"All the same to me. Pencil, pen, or paint-brush."

"But you do not understand. They are _word_ pictures. Descriptions, you
know."

"Well, now you have got me! Show up, anyhow."

Constance opened the little book, and spread it out on her knee.

"I am getting material for a novel," she said impressively. "The great
American novel has yet to be written. I do not want you to think me
conceited, Jock, but I have had exceptional advantages--I may be the
chosen one to write this--this great novel."

"Who knows?" Jock's serious gaze was a perfect disguise for his true
inward state.

"Yes; who knows? You see I can speak freely to you."

"Sure thing," assented Jock. "Dumb animals can't blab, and once you turn
your back on St. Ange I'll be a dumb beast all right!"

"My back will never be turned permanently on St. Ange, I think!" the
girl spoke slowly. "I agree with Ralph that for the future his home will
probably be here; and where Ralph is----"

"The lamb will surely come. Go on, child, and hang up your pictures."
They both laughed now.

"First," Constance folded her hands over the open pages of her book, "I
wonder, Jock, if you would like to hear--something of my life? It would
explain this--this--great ambition of mine."

"Well," Jock drawled, "if you don't think me too young and innocent for
such excitement, fire away. Histories have always had a hold on me. Most
of 'em ain't true, but they tickle your imagination."

"Jock! But I'm in earnest. I have felt that I must have a confidant.
Some one who will--sympathize. I'm going to have a woman friend in a day
or so--but a man--one who is disinterested, so to speak, is always such
a comfort to a gir