"I wonder," she said as they reached the bottom of the staircase, "I wonder he didn't come after us to--to--try to explain." "I locked the door," said Betty. "Don't speak to me, please." They were in the train before either broke silence. Betty's face was white and she looked old--thirty almost her aunt thought. [Illustration: "On the further arm of the chair sat, laughing also, a very pretty young woman"] It was Miss Desmond who spoke. "Betty," she said, "I know how you feel. But you're very young. I think I ought to say that that girl--" "_Don't_!" said Betty. "I mean what we saw doesn't necessarily mean that he doesn't love you." "Perhaps not," said Betty, fierce as a white flame. "Anyhow, it means that I don't love him." Miss Desmond's tact, worn by three days of anxiety and agitation, broke suddenly, and she said what she regretted for some months: "Oh, you don't love _him_ now? Well, the other man will console you." "I hate you," said Betty, "and I hate him; and I hope I shall never see a man again as long as I live!" CHAPTER XXVIII. "AND SO--" The banging of his door, the locking of it, annoyed Vernon, yet interested him but little. One's acquaintances have such queer notions of humour. He had the excuse--and by good luck the rope--to explore his celebrated roofs. Mimi was more agitated than he, so he dismissed her for the day with many compliments and a bunch of roses, and spent what was left of the light in painting in a background to the sketch of Betty--the warren as his sketch-book helped him to remember it. Perhaps he and she would go there together some day. He looked with extreme content at the picture on the easel. He had worked quickly and well. The thing was coming splendidly. Mimi had been right. She could pose herself as no artist had ever posed her. He would make a picture of the thing after all. The next morning brought him a letter. That he, who had hated letters, should have come to care for a letter more than for anything that could have come to him except a girl. He kissed the letter before he opened it. "At last," he said. "Oh, this minute was worth waiting for!" He opened the envelope with a smile mingled of triumph and something better than triumph--and read: "Dear Mr. Vernon: "I hope that nothing in my manner has led you to expect any other answer than the one I must give. That answer is, of course, _no_. Although thanking you sincerely for your flattering offer, I am obliged to say that I have never thought of you except as a friend. I was extremely surprised by your letter. I hope I have not been in any way to blame. With every wish for your happiness, and regrets that this should have happened, I am yours faithfully, "Elizabeth Desmond."