Amory was quite sure that that too was part of the change in Cosimo. He wanted to be on a topic that was--like the mended door--"safe." He had risen on his knees and straightened his back; Amory had thought he was about to rise altogether; but she herself did not move, and he sat down again, cross-legged, on the other end of the door. He asked further questions about Jellies, Orris, and the ten bicycles. Amory, shaking back her thick, raw-gold mane, answered him quite freely; and then Cosimo returned to the subject of the door again. "It ought to have new hinges too, really," he grunted, "but I suppose it's too late to get them to-night. Look how rusty that one is." Amory leaned forward, and together they inspected the hinge. Then she gave a little laugh. It was almost a reckless little laugh. "Oh, it will do," she said lightly. "I shouldn't bother about it. Leave it till to-morrow. You can just prop it up for to-night." "Prop it up!" repeated Cosimo. "Oh no. Wouldn't do at all." Then, all at once, apparently, Amory saw. She laughed again. "Oh!... Good gracious, Cosimo, how ridiculous you are! Why, I thought you were joking at first! As if anybody but you ever came up here nowadays--and even you only once in awhile!" Then, with another reckless little laugh, she added, "Why, what difference could a door make?" "A good deal, or else why have 'em?" Cosimo retorted. He did not seem comfortable. "Quite so: why?" Amory replied. "What a strange idea! Really, I never knew you confuse Accidentals and Essentials so before! Why, if a person's made up his mind to do a thing, how will a door stop it? And if it won't, why a door? You know as well as I do that these things happen _within ourselves_. Besides, I thought we'd arrived at our conclusions." "Of course, so we have," said Cosimo apologetically. "I know we've got quite down to fundamentals. Still, there's no actual _harm_ in having a hinge." Amory shook her head slowly. The lamp on the floor shone tiny in either brook-brown eye. Somehow Cosimo felt as uncomfortable as a guilty dog under those eyes. "You've changed, Cosimo," she said. "Something's changed you.... Why," she suddenly made a soft little appeal and held out both hands--"why don't you tell me what it is?" Cosimo appeared not to notice her hands. His own fumbled with a screw. "I haven't changed, Amory, really--really I haven't," he protested. "You have, Cosimo," Amory replied, her head critically a little on one side. "You mayn't know it, but you're becoming--ordinary." "Oh!" Cosimo broke out, revolted. "Ordinary--Cosimo!----" "I'm not reproaching you," Amory continued. "I suppose that if you examine it, it's nothing to be ashamed of--I mean that 'ashamed' isn't quite the word. But words are only symbols after all; it's the thing that matters." "Of course," Cosimo agreed quickly. "You don't think I've changed my mind about that, I hope, Amory? We came to the conclusion that words were only symbols years ago."