Rodney blinked, but recovered himself immediately. He waved his hand with a careless gesture, indicative of restrained nobility. “Oh, as to that--!” “Especially as I’m afraid I treated you rather badly. But it really was for the happiness of both of us that I broke off the engagement. You do understand that, don’t you?” A light broke upon Rodney Spelvin. He had been confident that it would if he only stalled along for a while. Now he placed this girl. She was Jane something, the girl he had been engaged to. By Jove, yes. He knew where he was now. “Do not let us speak of it,” he said, registering pain. It was quite easy for him to do this. All there was to it was tightening the lips and drawing up the left eyebrow. He had practised it in front of his mirror, for a fellow never knew when it might not come in useful. “So you didn’t forget me, Rodney?” “Forget you!” There was a short pause. “I read your novel,” said Jane. “I loved it.” She blushed again, and the colour in her cheeks made her look so remarkably pretty that Rodney began to feel some of the emotions which had stirred him five years ago. He decided that this was a good thing and wanted pushing along. “I hoped that you might,” he said in a low voice, massaging her hand. He broke off and directed into her eyes a look of such squashy sentimentality that Jane reeled where she stood. “I wrote it for you,” he added, simply. Jane gasped. “For me?” “I supposed you would have guessed,” said Rodney. “Surely you saw the dedication?” _The Purple Fan_ had been dedicated, after Rodney Spelvin’s eminently prudent fashion, to “One Who Will Understand.” He had frequently been grateful for the happy inspiration. “The dedication?” “‘To One Who Will Understand,’” said Rodney, softly. “Who would that be but you?” “Oh, Rodney!” “And didn’t you recognise Eulalie, Jane? Surely you cannot have failed to recognise Eulalie?” “Recognise her?” “I drew her from you,” said Rodney Spelvin. * * * * *