"But haven't you any idea why she's gone?" he asked, not at all expecting any answer but "Not the least." But Miss Voscoe said: "I have a quite first-class idea and so have you." He could but beg her pardon interrogatively. "Oh, you know well enough," said she. "She'd got to go. And it was up to her to do it right now, I guess." Vernon had to ask why. "Well, you being engaged to another girl, don't you surmise it might kind of come home to her there were healthier spots for you than the end of her apron strings? Maybe she thought the other lady's apron strings 'ud be suffering for a little show?" "I'm not engaged," said Vernon shortly. "Then it's time you were," the answer came with equal shortness. "You'll pardon me making this a heart-to-heart talk--and anyway it's no funeral of mine. But she's the loveliest girl and I right down like her. So you take it from me. That F.F.V. Lady with the violets--Oh, don't pretend you don't know who I mean--the one you're always about with when you aren't with Betty. _She's_ your ticket. Betty's not. Your friend's her style. You pass, this hand, and give the girl a chance." "I really don't understand--" "I bet you do," she interrupted with conviction. "I've sized you up right enough, Mr. Vernon. You're no fool. If you've discontinued your engagement Betty doesn't know it. Nor she shan't from me. And one of these next days it'll be borne in on your friend that she's _the_ girl of his life--and when he meets her again he'll get her to see it his way. Don't you spoil the day's fishing." Vernon laughed. "You have all the imagination of the greatest nation in the world, Miss Voscoe," he said. "Thank you. These straight talks to young men are the salt of life. Good-bye." "You haven't all the obfuscation of the stupidest nation in the world," she retorted. "If you had had you'd have had a chance to find out what straight talking means--which it's my belief you never have yet. Good-bye. You take my tip. Either you go back to where you were before you sighted Betty, or if the other one's sick of you too, just shuffle the cards, take a fresh deal and start fair. You go home and spend a quiet evening and think it all over." Vernon went off laughing, and wondering why he didn't hate Miss Voscoe. He did not laugh long. He sat in his studio, musing till it was too late to go out to dine. Then he found some biscuits and sherry--remnants of preparations for the call of a picture dealer--ate and drank, and spent the evening in the way recommended by Miss Voscoe. He lay face downward on the divan, in the dark, and he did "think it all over." But first there was the long time when he lay quite still--did not think at all, only remembered her hands and her eyes and her hair, and the pretty way her brows lifted when she was surprised or perplexed--and the four sudden sweet dimples that came near the corners of her mouth when she was amused, and the way her mouth drooped when she was tired.