Mrs. Graham’s back was turned to her, but she could catch a glimpse of her companion’s face. He was painfully white, yet his lips were firmly closed and his expression showed less of the self pity than she anticipated. “You are very brave, braver than I could possibly be in your place,” Mrs. Graham murmured. “If there was only something I could do, some possible way to make up to you I should not feel so unhappy. Yet for the loss of creative work there is no recompense.” “Oh, but my work was not so valuable as all that, Mrs. Graham, you are mistaken. Most of my poetry was the veriest trash. Editors and friends were of the same opinion. Good-by, I will come in again in a day or so, if you will allow me.” The following instant the young man was gone. Startled and troubled by his swift departure, making an unexpected movement behind her screen, Gill beheld the screen pitch forward and stood facing Mrs. Graham, who had swung around at the unexpected sound. “You have been in hiding and listening to what Mr. Drain and I were saying to each other, one of the Sunrise Camp Fire girls! I am afraid I do not understand. There was nothing in our conversation you might not have heard openly, had you cared to join us.” There was more surprise than reproach in Mrs. Graham’s manner and voice. Blushing hotly, Mary Gilchrist felt unable to offer a defense. What defense had she to offer? “I had no thought of listening, not at first, Mrs. Graham. In order not to be seen I hid myself for a moment and then when you came into the room I did not wish to interrupt you.” Even to her own ears Gill did not feel that her explanation really explained. Therefore she could scarcely resent the slight look of disdain on her companion’s face, as she answered: “You are not a child and under the circumstances I think might have met the situation in a less undignified fashion. As Mrs. Burton is not well I shall not trouble her by speaking of this because I am afraid she would be a good deal displeased.” CHAPTER VII Friendship The first snow of the season was falling. Outside the night was transcendently lovely, the hills covered with white blankets, the trees, surprised at the first winter breath, shaking crumpled leaves of faded gold or bronze to be buried under the snow. On the lake in front of Tahawus cabin there was a light covering of ice, making a bed for the snowflakes. Overhead the moon shone down upon the winter silence of the woods. Inside the large cabin the Camp Fire girls were seated about the fire in ceremonial fashion, the Council meeting having just ended. On the mantel the candles were dying, although there was no other light in the room save their flickering flames and the light of the fire.