"By morning I was curious to know your idea of 'the best woman in the world.' Then, too, I thought I could find my needed tonic in your hills and better accommodations than I could obtain at a hotel. So I continued to play my part. When I saw Mrs. Kingdon, I realized she _was_ the best woman in the world. She, like Jo, recognized me at once, having seen me rehearsing in San Francisco. I had the whim to stay incognito and she humored me, insisting, however, that you should be told the next day. But the next day you had gone. In the week that followed I learned the beauty of a home life, hitherto unknown to me. "Of course those stunts you saw me doing on field day were mere 'horse play' compared with what I have to do in making the pictures. When I met you for a brief space of time that afternoon, I had no opportunity to make my disclosure. When you returned, Mrs. Kingdon was away and I couldn't resist the temptation to play on in my new part. Any one's personality seems more pleasing to me than my own, and I still felt as if I were really Marta. "My early ideals of manly suitors were patterned slightly on your model; it piqued me, I admit, that you didn't seem to fall for a little romance with me, as many suitors had done. "When I saved Francis from being thrown (I've turned that trick many a time in pictures) I felt that I had in a way repaid Mrs. Kingdon for her hospitality. You were so homey and nice that night, I almost 'fessed up. I did my best to make you care more--and I thought I had succeeded; but you still made reservations and I thought your reluctance came from my past--Marta's past-- "That night as I stood at my window vaguely regretting my deception, Jo came along. I flew down to him and told him that I had heard from Marta, and we had a nice long talk together. I told him she was living 'straight,' but I respected her wish not to let him know where she was. "I don't know why, as time went on, I didn't tell you who I was. Maybe it was natural perversity, or the fateful habit of playing a part. "I ran away to town that day you were all absent and met Larry Lamont, my cousin, the only kinsman I have. He was once a harum-scarum lad and did some flying acts for a company I was with, and one day when he was laid off for 'reasons,' I gave him a calling down and advised him to go to an aviation school and learn to fly scientifically. I hadn't heard from him until I saw him at the hotel, and found he had made good and joined the flying service of France.