"Then you would see no harm in my giving my picture to any one?" "Of course I do not say it would be right of you to go about giving it to every man you meet." "No? Then why should I give it to you in particular. After all, I believe I was wrong." "Oh, that is quite another thing altogether," says Mr. Carrington, biting his lip. "You have known me a long time; I may almost be considered an old friend. And, besides, you can be quite sure that I will prize it as it deserves." "That is saying very little," I return, gloomily. His reasoning seems to me poor and unsatisfactory. I begin to wish my wretched likeness back again in my untidy drawer. "But why are you so sure it was _not_ your picture I was caught admiring the other day?" asks Mr. Carrington, presently, with an ill-suppressed smile. "Nonsense!" I reply angrily. (I hate being laughed at). "For what possible reason would you put _my_ face into your locket? I _knew_ you would think me vain when I began, but I am _not_--and--and I am very sorry I took the trouble to explain it to you at all." "Forgive me, Phyllis. I did not mean to offend you, and I do _not_ think you vain. I was merely imagining what a fatuous fool I must have looked when discovered in the act you describe. But have you no curiosity to learn who it _really_ was I was so publicly embracing?" "I _know_," I return, with a nod; "it was that little girl you told me of some time since--the village maiden, you remember, whose face was so dear to you. Am I not right!" "Quite right. What a capital guess you made!" "May I see her?" I ask, coaxingly. "Do let me get just one little peep at her. I am sure she is lovely, from what you say; and I do so like pretty people?" "You would only be disappointed, and then you would say so, and I could not bear to hear one disparaging word said of my beauty." "I will _not_ be disappointed. Of course you have had so much experience to guide you--your taste must be better than mine. Please let me see her." "You promise faithfully not to scorn the face I will show you? You will say no slighting word?" "I will not indeed. How could you think I would be so rude?" "Very good." He raises his watch-chain and detaches from it a plain gold locket. I draw near and gaze at it eagerly. What will she be like, this rival of Dora's? "Now, remember," he says again, while a look of intense amusement crosses his face, "you have promised to admire?" "Yes, yes," I answer impatiently; and as he deliberately opens the trinket I lean forward and stare into the large gray-blue eyes of Phyllis Marian Vernon. --- Slowly I raise my head and look at my companion. He appears grave now, and rather anxious. I know I am as white as death. "So you have put _me_ into a locket _too_," I say, in a low tone. "Why?" "Do not use the word 'too,' Phyllis. You have no rival; I keep no woman's face near me except yours." "Then it was an untruth you told me about that girl?"