She ended with a nervous laugh, and looked up at Caine with a pretty, helpless air of seeking protection. Amzi always found this appealing attitude irresistible. If social longings were Conover’s “feet of clay,” Letty Standish served as a similar pedal handicap for Caine. He wished young Hawarden had not thrust himself upon the tête-à-tête of their homeward walk. He wanted, loverlike, to reassure Letty with unspeakably doughty promises of safeguard from peril; to see her soft round eyes raised to his in the admiration such protestations are wont to excite between very young or very old lovers. But Jack was doggedly treading along beside them in all the charming ignorance of his age and temperament. The boy’s sulks were even now dissolving and he joined again in the talk; still harping on his hero. “I never met Conover till this morning,” said he. “I wish now I’d known him better. It’s queer I never met him at Miss Shevlin’s. She’s his ward, you know.” Letty, to whom he spoke, answered with a tinge of the latent sub-acid in her gentle voice: “I didn’t know. But I’ve noticed things about Miss Shevlin that made it seem quite likely.” “Miss Shevlin,” said the boy, hotly, “is the prettiest, brightest, best-bred girl I ever knew. If you mean she is--” “I dare say,” answered Letty with elaborate carelessness. “But I never noticed her especially.” “I don’t see,” persisted Jack, “how you could have helped it. She’s the sort of girl everyone notices. There’s something about her--” “Why, what a zealous champion she has!” exclaimed Letty, playfully, her laughter ringing thin. “I congratulate her.” “You needn’t,” retorted Jack. “And I’m afraid you’ll never even have a chance to congratulate _me_. I--” “By the way, Hawarden,” interposed Caine, lazily pouring oil on the churned waters, according to his wont. “I read your _Scribner’s_ story to-day. I can congratulate you on _that_, at any rate, can’t I? It was decidedly good. I wondered at your knowledge of human nature.” Hawarden’s chest swelled. At twenty-two, who does not know human nature as never can it be known in later years? And who does not rejoice at recognition of that vast knowledge? “I’ve had some experience with life, in my time,” said Jack, darkly. “And I paint my fellow-man as I see him. Not as he ought to be. But as he is. If I seem merciless in my character drawing--” “You do indeed!” began Caine. But a fit of very well executed coughing cut short his righteous praise. Jack, disappointed, sought to lead the talk back to the former happy theme. “I’m writing a story now,” he said, “that is bigger in every way than anything I’ve done before. But I can’t decide yet, even in my own mind, whether it is very good or very bad. It is one or the other. I know that.” “If it’s enough of either,” replied Caine, “it is certain to make a popular hit.”