"God bless and save us!" Jock rolled from side to side. "If you don't beat all for gol-durned sass. Why, Tate will sue you for damages if that great American novel ever strikes his vision. Oil! Thunderation; and poisonous whiskey, and doctored beer. Was it Society or Settlement what let light in on you, about such terms?" "Neither. It's--inspiration." "It's just plain imperdence, and it'll get you in trouble. Are you going to use names in that novel of yours?" "Certainly not. Do you think I do not know my art? But you recognize Tate? Then he lives!" "Good Lord! Know him? How under the everlasting firmament could I help knowing him? What other proprietor is there in St. Ange, you comical little bag of words? specially one as demoralizes the community with poisoned whiskey and doctored beer? Balls of fire! but this beats the band. Go on; go on." When a man of thirty steps out of a starved exile and comes in contact with a girl like Constance Drew, it may be dangerous to "go on," but the exile will certainly _want_ to. Nothing loath; all sparkling and radiant, Constance swept along. "And I've got--you, but maybe you will never forgive me. I took you at your--your worst--for don't you see when I use you--later--I'm going to redeem you and have you come out truly splendid." Jock's jaw dropped, and the laugh fled from his overflowing eyes. "Me?" he gasped. Constance nodded, and waved a pointed pencil toward him. "Wait!" she ran her eye down the page. "'Beautiful woman--with a--Past'--that's the girl up in the other Masquerader's shack, that girl Joyce, you know, and Gaston--and here's Peggy Falstar--'woman sunk to man's level and reproducing her kind'--brief note of Billy Falstar as 'impish child'--oh! here you are! "'Village Bacchus. Tall, handsome, but lost, apparently, to shame. Swaggering criss-cross down the road, laughing senselessly and shouting songs. Slave to appetite. Controlled by his brutal passions. When spoken to in this state, assumes manner of gentleman. Subconscious self--study in heredity.--Let a strong influence enter his life--handsome noble girl--redemption at end--splendid character.'" "Good God!" Constance dropped the book. The eyes that met her own had a look in them that drove the cold, which she had not felt before, to her very heart. "What--what--is the matter?" she gasped. "Did you--ever see me--like that?" The words came hoarsely. "Yes. One day a few weeks ago. Ralph wanted you. I went to find you--and"--the girl's eyes dropped. She felt a sudden humiliation as if he had detected her reading his private letters. "And I talked--rot and all the rest?" "Yes. I never told Ralph; I knew it would hurt him--I had--no right to tell you this--it is only--copy for me." "Copy?" "Yes; stuff to work into the--novel." "The novel? Ah, I remember. I'm going to be stuffed in with Tate and--and the others?"