So it was that that had been the matter with Elinore, was it? She had not grown tired of _him_ so much, but had wanted more money than she thought he would be able to furnish for a long time? He stared off into the room not seeing its cozy details for the first time since he began to get well. He was looking at the vision of the past trying to conjure up a face whose loveliness had held for him no imperfections. He was looking at it squarely now as it rose dimly in vision against the gray of Miss Marilla’s spare-room wall; and for the first time he saw the petted under lip with the selfish droop at its corners, the pout when she could not have her own way, the frown of the delicate brows, the petulant tapping of a dainty foot, the proud lifted shoulder, the haughty stare, the cold tones and crushing contempt that were hers sometimes. These had seldom been for him; and, when he had seen them, he had called them beautiful, had gloried in them, fool that he was! Why had he been so blind, when there were girls in the world like--well--say like Mary Amber? Misjudging Elinore? Well, perhaps, but somehow he did not believe he was. Something had cleared his vision. He began to remember things in Elinore Harrower that he had never called by their true names before. It appeared more than likely that Elinore had deliberately left him for a richer man, and that it was entirely possible under the changed circumstances that she might leave the richer man for him if he could prove that he was the richer of the two. Bah! What a thing to get well to! Why did there have to be things like that in the world? Well, it mattered very little to him what Elinore did. It might make a difference with her, but it would make no difference to him. There were things in that letter of hers that had cut too deep. He could never forget them, no, never, not even if she came crawling to his feet and begging him to come back to her. As for going back to Chicago, business be hanged! He was going to stay right here and get well. A smile melted out on his lips, and comfort settled down about him as he heard Mary Amber’s step on the stairs and the soothing clink of the spoon in the glass of egg and milk. “Good news?” asked Mary Amber as she shoved up the little serving-table and prepared to administer the egg and milk. “Oh, so-so!” he answered with a smile, sweeping the letters away from him and looking at the foaming glass with eager eyes. “Why! You haven’t opened them all!” laughed Mary Amber. “Oh! Haven’t I?” he said impatiently, sweeping them up and tearing them open wholesale with only a glance at each, then throwing them back on the coverlet again. “Nothing but the same old thing. Hounding me back to Chicago,” he grinned. “I’m having much too good a time to get well too fast, you may be sure.”