Donnell, with his gentle but wearied smile, handed her a new photograph, and offered a second to Rosalind. Behind them, in the recess of the window, was another girl, and Donnell turned with kindly courtesy and handed her a still. As he moved aside to give her room at the table, Annan, also, politely made a place for her, noticing her supple grace as she moved forward in silhouette, the sun, behind her, outlining a curved cheek and slender neck. And suddenly he knew her. “Eris!” he exclaimed, delighted. “I was afraid you didn’t remember me, Mr. Annan----” A slim hand, scarce ventured, lay in his,--lay very still and cool and unresponsive. “Eris,--_Eris!_” he repeated with a boyish warmth so unfeigned that the bright colour slowly came into her face and her hand reacted nervously to his. Rosalind gave them a lazy glance over her shoulder: “Ding-dong! Take your corners,” she said, offering them a still in which Eris figured. And, to Eris: “I’ll tell you something, my dear; if I screened like you I’d quit squalling top notes.... _Look_ at her in this one, Barry! Isn’t she _too_ sweet? Isn’t Eris wonderful, Frank?”--to Mr. Donnell, who smiled in his amiable, tired way and sorted out more photographs. “Here, my dear,” said Rosalind, offering another still to Eris, “I can stand a prettier girl than I am for just so long. But you and Barry may admire indefinitely if you like.” The lovely colour of embarrassment came into the girl’s face as she took the photograph thrust upon her: “Mr. Stoll gets the best out of one,” she protested. “The rest is all in the make-up, Rosalind----” “The rest is all in _you_,” retorted Rosalind. “You’re scaring us all stiff with your beauty. God help us to bear it.” Eris, holding her own picture, let her flushed glance stray toward Annan as he bent beside her. “You’re coming into your own, Eris,” he said gaily. “I can see what you have done for yourself already.” “You can see what _you_ have done for me,” she replied under her breath. “What?” “You gave me my chance.” “Nonsense. Betsy did that. You are doing the rest for yourself. You’re making good. That’s evident. You’re happy, too.... Are you?” “Yes.” “Well, little pilgrim,” he said smilingly, “I guess you really knew your business that night under the stars in the Park. And the credit is all yours----” “It’s _yours_!” she interrupted with a sudden passion in her voice that startled him. “My dear child,” he protested, but she went on breathlessly: “I know what you’ve done if _you_ don’t! You made it all possible. This is what I craved; what I needed. It’s _life_ to me, Mr. Annan. And you gave it.” “I had absolutely nothing to----” “You did! You had everything to do with it. From the time you spoke to me in the Park to the time I left a letter for you, I _lived_ for the first time in my life. You don’t understand. Kindness comes very easy to you--and--and out of your rich store you are--are generous with the treasures of your mind----”