“It’s all right now, ain’t it?” he said. “We’ve got it straightened out. You’ll not be afraid to come back here if your mother wants you to.” He stopped for a moment and then went on with something of hesitation: “We don’t want to talk about your mother. We can’t. But I understand her, too. Folks are different from each other in their ways. She’s different from you. I’ll--I’ll straighten it out with her if you like.” “Nothing will need straightening out after I tell her that you are going to marry Little Ann Hutchinson,” said Joan, with a half-smile, “and that you were engaged to her before you saw me.” “Well, that does sort of finish things up, doesn’t it?” said T. Tembarom. He looked at her so speculatively for a moment after this that she wondered whether he had more to say. He had. “There’s something I want to ask you,” he ventured. “Ask anything.” “Do you know any one--just any one--who has a photo--just any old photo--of Jem Temple Barholm?” She was rather puzzled. “I know a woman who has worn one for eight years. Do you want to see it?” “I’d give a good deal to,” he replied. She took a flat locket from her dress and handed it to him. “Women don’t wear lockets in these days,”--he could barely hear her voice, it was so low,--“but I’ve never taken it off. I wanted him near my heart. It’s _Jem_!” He held it on the palm of his hand and stood under the light, studying it as if he wanted to be sure he wouldn’t forget it. “It’s--sorter like that picture of Miles Hugo, ain’t it?” he suggested. “Yes; people always said so. That was why you found me in the picture-gallery the first time we met.” “I knew that was the reason, and I knew I’d made a break when I butted in,” he answered. Then, still looking at the photograph, he said: “You’d know that face again most anywhere you saw it, I guess. A man would know a face like that again wherever he saw it. Thank you, Lady Joan.” He handed back the picture, and she put out her hand again. “I think I’ll go to my room now,” she said. “You’ve done a strange thing to me. You’ve taken nearly all the hatred and bitterness out of my heart. I shall want to come back here whether my mother comes or not--I shall want to.” “The sooner the quicker,” he said. “And so long as I’m here, I’ll be ready and waiting.” “Don’t go away,” she said softly. “I shall need you.” “Isn’t that great?” he cried, flushing delightedly. “Isn’t it just great that we’ve got things straightened so that you can say that. Gee! This is a queer old world! There’s such a lot to do in it, and so few hours in the day. Seems like there ain’t time to stop long enough to hate anybody and keep a grouch on. A fellow’s got to keep hustling not to miss the things worth while.” The liking in her eyes was actually wistful.