"P.S.--I had a dream once of what I fancied our friendship might be. It is a long time ago, and the days between have faded all the color and sweetness out of my dream--still, I remember that it was beautiful. For the sake of that vain imagining, and because it was beautiful, I will send you, if you will allow me, a photograph of a painting which I like, which represents art as I have learned to kneel to it." Kendal read this communication through with a look of keen amusement until he came to the postscript. Then he threw back his head and laughed outright. Janet's face had changed; she tried to smile in concert, but the effort was rather piteous. "Oh, Jack," she said, "please take it seriously." But he laughed on, irrepressibly. She tried to cover his lips. "_Don't_ shout so!" she begged, as if there were illness in the house or a funeral next door, and he saw something in her face which stopped him. "My darling, it can't hurt--it doesn't, does it?" "I'd like to say no, but it does, a little. Not so much as it would have done a while ago." "Are you going to accept Miss Bell's souvenir of her shattered ideal? That's the best thing in the letter --that's really supreme!" and Kendal, still broadly mirthful, stretched out his hand to take it again; but Janet drew it back. "No," she said, "of course not; that was silly of her. But a good deal of the rest is true, I'm afraid, Jack." "It's damnably impudent," he cried, with, sudden anger. "I suppose she believes it herself, and that's the measure of its truth. How dare she dogmatize to you about the art of your work! _She_ to _you_!" "Oh, it isn't that I care about. It doesn't matter to me, how little she thinks of my aims and my methods. I'm quite content to do my work with what artistic conception I've got without analyzing its quality--I'm thankful enough to have any. Besides, I'm not sure about the finality of her opinion--" "You needn't be!" Kendal interrupted, with scorn. "But what hurts--like a knife--is that part about my insincerity. I _haven't_ been honest with her--I haven't! From the very beginning I've criticised her privately. I've felt all sorts of reserves and qualifications about her, and concealed them--for the sake of--of I don't know what--the pleasure I had in knowing her, I suppose." "It seems to me pretty clear, from this precious communication, that she was quietly reciprocating," Kendal said bluntly. "That doesn't clear me in the least. Besides, when she had made up her mind she had the courage to tell me what she thought; there was some principle in that. I--I admire her for doing it, but I couldn't, myself." "Thank the Lord, no. And I wouldn't be too sure, if I were you, darling, about the unmixed heroism that dictates her letter. I dare say she fancied it was that, but--" Janet's head leaped up from his shoulder. "Now you are unjust to her," she cried. "You don't know Elfrida, Jack. If you think her capable of assuming a motive--"