Hobart came and took his hand. “I’m mighty proud of you, old man; you get yourself rested up and forget the haughty beauties waiting to be painted in their best togs.... You’ll have to be a sculptor in spite of yourself.” “The master said, ‘All an artist needs is to trust his eyes,’” Collin repeated. “Ah, but his inner eyes—which never dim,” Thurley corrected, coming over to kiss his cheek. “Here is Polly waiting to kiss you on both cheeks. Why, Collin, you’ve just come home twice as precious; that’s all, isn’t it?—just come home.” Polly stood back, afraid that his hands would reach up to touch her cheeks and discover the tears. “I want Polly,” Collin said suddenly. “Where is she?” Hobart gave her an imperative nudge. “We bother Polly from being her best,” he said softly. “Let’s clear.... Polly’s the only one to make Collin get used to himself.” * * * * * In the late evening, Thurley and Mark came back into the house, after Mark had “talked her head off” in the garden and as she said good night, she added, “To think you’re going to do something that will make the worth-while world claim you!” “If it’s really not too late to study law,” he lapsed back into uncertainty. “I’ve come to believe that nothing worth while is ever too late, it may not be in just the way we had planned or preferred, but if the right effort is made, the result follows.... Mark, what wonderful things another person’s tragedy can inspire!” “It has been Collin mostly—and Lissa’s awful selfishness! Besides, Ernestine is really human and Caleb follows her about like a lamb. She’ll have him writing something ripping if he’s not careful.” Hobart was reading in the study and he came in to where they were and said that Thurley was too fagged to stay up another moment. “Which means you want to talk to Mark and being a woman, I’m a hindrance,” she laughed, slipping away. In her room, she found Polly a funny muddle of rose-colored negligee, handkerchiefs rolled into moist little balls, and curl papers, oddly enough! Ernestine was trying to argue with her, but Polly’s head was among the cushions of Thurley’s chaise longue and only smothered sobs escaped at intervals. Ernestine gave a sigh of relief as Thurley entered. “Do make her behave! Polly dear, you must be brave, as you used to be about your own affairs. We all know how hard you care. We just want you to keep on caring, and it might have been worse. Why, Collin’s soul isn’t bruised; now Caleb’s was,” she added honestly. “How did he ever marry you?” Polly managed to ask. “I ordered it, as you must—mustn’t she, Thurley? It’s her duty.” Thurley slipped down beside Polly. “A gray angel can ask a man to marry her as easily as she can knit him a sweater,” she whispered. “Collin needs you; he must use his talents wisely and only some one who really will belong to him can make him prove his worth.”