Explanations with Amy were impossible now, but the following morning, which the girls spent luxuriously in bed, proved auspicious. Amy's waking mood was contrite. She owned of her own engaging accord that she had made a goose of herself in the restaurant, suggesting by way of defence that her stepfather must have favored quite another kind of beer. She as frankly conceded that the Rose episode was indefensible, and promised ample apologies to the dentist. "He'll understand how it was," she said. "Paul's not a Jake Meyer." "Will Mr. Rose understand?" asked Jean, pointedly. Amy shot her a sidelong glance. "Why not?" "He's not--well, a Paul Bartlett." "He isn't a Jake Meyer, either, if that's what you mean," retorted Amy, rising on her elbow. "I like Rosey and make no bones of telling you. What have you got at the back of your big brown eyes there? Somebody has been stuffing you, I guess. Was it some kind friend at Meyer & Schwarzschild's? What did they say about Rosey and me?" "Nothing," answered Jean, suspicious of her warmth; but now told her plainly whom and what they had mentioned. Amy listened without surprise. "There was bound to be some gossip," she commented, at length. "I counted on it." "You counted on it!" "Certainly. Jake knew the buyer's record from A to Z, and there were others." Jean had a moment's giddiness, and shrank from her explorations. "Did you?" she faltered. "Of course. Do you suppose I couldn't read him like a book after all I've been through?" "Yet you went just the same! You--" "I trusted to luck, and for once luck was with me. He had a big offer from a Chicago firm, and left town the very day I went into the cloak department. Oh, you needn't stare," she added, with a touch of passion. "The world hasn't been any too kind to me, and I'm learning to beat it at its own selfish game. Don't let it worry you." "I can't help it." "Then you're silly. I'm not as soft as I look. Besides, you'll find yourself pretty busy paddling your own canoe." Jean fell into a brooding silence. The new life was incredibly complex. It held possibilities before which imagination flinched. A picture, recalled again and again with extraordinary vividness, flashed once more before her. She saw a camp among birches bordering a pellucid lake; a boyish, pacing figure; a straightforward, troubled face confronting her own. She evoked a voice, "To be a stranger in New York, homeless, friendless, without work, the shadow of that place over there dogging your steps...." Every syllable, every intonation, was ineffaceable. Where was he now, that flawless young knight of the enchanted forest, who had stayed her folly and changed the current of her life? He had promised to befriend her when, against his counsel, she had thought to dare this unknown world. Would he still have faith, should they meet? Amy's laugh caught her back to the room of three dormers.