The moment when Sheila had that terrifying inward vision of her own inconsistencies marked the beginning of her self-consciousness. For a while this was acute and painful. She was always afraid of finding herself, quite unintentionally, involved in a labyrinth of untruth, and her conscience, which passionately rejected any dishonesty that it perceived, was continually occupied in analyzing her emotions and impulses, her most guileless thoughts and her simplest actions. "I am naturally a liar," she told herself solemnly. "I must watch myself all the time--because I am naturally a liar!" But she said nothing of her self-revelation and ensuing struggles to Mrs. Caldwell. It was a thing to be overcome in shame and silence, and alone, this innate wickedness of hers. Her shame was indeed so genuine that she met Ted, for the first time after he had shown her failing to her, with deep reluctance. He must have been thinking of her awful tendency ever since they had parted--as she had been. And he could not possibly respect her! But to her amazement, he greeted her with his usual manner of untroubled good fellowship. Clearly, she had not sunk in his estimation. She was astounded, and shocked at him as well as at herself, until it occurred to her that he might have forgotten the matter altogether. This was incredible, but more honorably incredible than that he should remember and not care. And if it were the case, she must not take advantage of his forgetfulness; she must not unfairly keep his esteem. "Ted," she said, with an effort worthy of a more saintly confessor, "Ted, I reckon I ought to remind you about the way I acted with Lisbeth." "What about it? Did your grandmother scold you much?" "Why, no. Don't you understand what I mean?" It was too painful to put her sin into words. "Has Lisbeth been after you again?" But the question was obviously not one of sympathy, for Ted's voice was sharp now. At the mention of Lisbeth he had recalled his grievance. "No," repeated Sheila. "I meant I ought to remind you about--_me_." And as Ted stared at her with no gleam of comprehension in his eyes, she was forced to become explicit: "I mean--the way I let Lisbeth believe what wasn't so." Ted looked at her speculatively for a moment, wondering if he had better rebuke her again for her folly, so that she should not commit it a second time. She would be capable of doing the whole thing over, under the impression that she was benefiting Lisbeth. She was so queer! "You were very silly," he said finally. "I was wicked!" she exclaimed in a fervor of repentance. Ted continued to regard her with that speculative gaze. "Well, you _are_ a queer one!" he ejaculated slowly. Sheila flushed. She had abased herself in penitence, and he only thought her queer. He _always_ thought her queer! She turned on him with a flare of temper that burned up her humility so far as he was concerned: