She held it and gravely studied it. She colored, and, still looking at the picture, felt her way suddenly open. “Yes, it does look like him,” she said, and putting it down, leant forward and looked into the fire. “Do you want to know why I accepted Tom?” she added, slowly. She was fully launched on a career of deception now, and felt a desperate exultation. Amory stared at her and nodded. She kept her eyes on the fire. “I wanted--a home.” Amory sat motionless, then spoke. “Why--why, weren't you happy with your aunt and uncle?” She shook her head. “No; and Tom was good and kind and very--” Amory got up and shook himself. “Oh, but that's an awful mistake,” he said. “I know,” said the girl, and turning, looked at him a moment. “Well, I've come to tell you that I have--” She hesitated. Amory slid down into the chair beside her. “Changed your mind?” “Yes.” “That note of your aunt's?” “Yes” He sat back and folded his arms. “I see,” he said, and there followed a long silence. The girl began buttoning and unbuttoning her glove. She must go; she was frightened, elated, amused. She did not want to go, but go she must. Would he ever forgive her? “Don't--don't hate me!” she said. Amory awoke from his stunned meditation. “My dear young lady, of course not,” he began; “only, Tom will be terribly broken up. It's the only thing to do now, I suppose, but why did you do the other?” She looked at him. As well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb, she thought. “I was unhappy and foolish.” She hesitated. “But you needn't be troubled about Tom. He--” Again she hesitated. “Not troubled about old Tom!” expostulated Amory. “Wait.” She put up her hand. “He made a mistake, too; he doesn't care so very much, and he has already flirted--” Amory laid his hand on her chair. “Tom!” “Yes,” she repeated; “he really is rather a flirt, and--” “Tom!” She nodded. “Yes; really, it did hurt me a little, only--” “Tom!” She faced him. “Yes, Tom. What do you think Tom is--blind and deaf and dumb? Any man worth his salt can flirt.” Amory stared at her. “Oh, he can, can he?” She nodded. “He was very good and kind, but I saw that he was changing; and then he met a little fair-haired, blue-eyed--” Amory interposed. “I told you.” She gave him a curious smile. “Yes, a silly little blond thing, just that.” But his satisfaction in his perspicacity was short-lived; he walked up and down the room in his perplexity. “I can't get over it,” he murmured. “I thought it a mad love-match, all done in a few weeks; and to have it turn out like this! You--” “Mercenary,” she interjected, with a sad little smile. He looked at her. “Yes; and Tom--” “Fickle,” she ended again. “Yes, and Tom fickle. Why, it shakes the foundations!” The girl felt a sudden wave of shame and weariness. She must go. She hadn't been fair, but it had been so sudden, so difficult. She looked at him, and getting up, wondered if she would ever see him again.