They laughed again; he placed a chair for her, but she chose the lounge, and made a place for him beside her. Within the half hour a physical transformation had changed her to a flushed and radiant young girl, shy and audacious by turns, brilliant of eye and lip, and charmingly alert to his every word and smile. From her shoulders the robe of care seemed to have fallen, shriveling, as it fell, in the soft fire of her youth and spring-tide, leaving visible only her fresh, unstained, and winsome beauty. She told him all that had occurred at Adriutha—all except what had happened between herself and young Wallace; and for the time she really forgot that such a man existed. Then she asked eager questions; and he laid open the first pages of his new life before her proud, happy, sympathetic eyes, tracing it paragraph by paragraph for her since he had entered into man’s estate, and had put away childish things. The clock ticked; the tongue of flame flickered low among its ashes. They talked on, heeding nothing except each other. "I thought you and Silvette were to use the apartment when you come to town. Your room is ready; but here you are in white marble and palatial grandeur overlooking the park. Explain those phenomena, pretty maid!" "We’re guests of Mr. Rivett, Jim. Otherwise, no palatial grandeur for us. We _wanted_ to go to the studio apartment; I was perfectly crazy to go. But we saw it would hurt Mr. Rivett’s feelings, and that he had set his kind old heart on entertaining us.... Oh, Jim, I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but if older people only knew that the less they entertain the young, the better they are beloved!" "That’s a rather sad truth, but it’s the truth," he said. "Rivett handed me one black eye, too, bless his heart. I had so counted on your being in the apartment.... Well, you’ll come sometime—" He hesitated, looked at her, troubled. "When is Silvette to be married?" "They think in the spring; they haven’t settled it yet." "Then you and she will be in the apartment this winter?" "If you want us," she said almost shyly. "_Want_ you! It will be paradise! I’ll make my salary go as far as it will." "Indeed, you _won’t_! Silvette and I chip in pro rata, or we refuse your marble halls!" "I’m afraid I’ll have to agree, Japonette. My poverty, not my will, consents!" After a moment she said: "It is a long while since you have called me that." "What?" "Japonette. I like it. There’s a sort of an irresponsible frou-frou to the name which suits me. That’s all I am, Jim," she added with a laugh—"just a swish of scented skirts." He glanced up at her, half smiling. "I know what you are," he said. "Do you? _I_ don’t. Reveal me to myself, O Cagliostro!" "Not now." "Why?" "Not now," he repeated. "When?" she insisted. "Some particularly sunny day in June, perhaps." "June! Listen to this man! The very nearest June is seven months off!"