Constance opened the little book, and spread it out on her knee. "I am getting material for a novel," she said impressively. "The great American novel has yet to be written. I do not want you to think me conceited, Jock, but I have had exceptional advantages--I may be the chosen one to write this--this great novel." "Who knows?" Jock's serious gaze was a perfect disguise for his true inward state. "Yes; who knows? You see I can speak freely to you." "Sure thing," assented Jock. "Dumb animals can't blab, and once you turn your back on St. Ange I'll be a dumb beast all right!" "My back will never be turned permanently on St. Ange, I think!" the girl spoke slowly. "I agree with Ralph that for the future his home will probably be here; and where Ralph is----" "The lamb will surely come. Go on, child, and hang up your pictures." They both laughed now. "First," Constance folded her hands over the open pages of her book, "I wonder, Jock, if you would like to hear--something of my life? It would explain this--this--great ambition of mine." "Well," Jock drawled, "if you don't think me too young and innocent for such excitement, fire away. Histories have always had a hold on me. Most of 'em ain't true, but they tickle your imagination." "Jock! But I'm in earnest. I have felt that I must have a confidant. Some one who will--sympathize. I'm going to have a woman friend in a day or so--but a man--one who is disinterested, so to speak, is always such a comfort to a girl when she faces a great epoch in her life." Jock swallowed his rising mirth and his face became a blank so far as expression was concerned. "I have had wonderful advantages," Constance began, "that is what makes me dare to hope. Advantages of wealth, society and--and a deep insight into people's innermost souls." "Gosh!" Jock exploded; "excuse me; I always burst out that way when I'm--moved." He sat down on the end of the log, and clutched his knees in his strong arms. "Somehow you don't look like such a desperate character," he added blandly, "known sin and conquered it, and all the rest?" Constance sniffed, but a little jocularity was not going to deter her from the luxury of confession. "Money should only be regarded," she went on, "as a sacred trust, and a means of enriching one's life. And as for Society--that is a bore! Dances, theatres, dinners and luncheons. Chaperons tagging around after you, suggesting by their mere presence that, unless you're watched, you'll do something desperate in the wild desire to break the monotony. Well, I drank deep of _that_ life," Constance looked dreamily over the stretch of meadow and pine-edged woods, all dazzling with a shimmer of icy snow, "before I took to----" "Crime?" Jock suggested. "It would seem that that was the natural sequence to such a career." "Jock Filmer--I took to philanthropy." "As bad as that?" Jock roared with laughter.