Gloria was too shrewd to believe quite that far. There were obvious hesitancies, blank spaces, and reservations wherever the name and deeds of Mr. Jacob Remsen, _alias_ Sir Montrose Veyze II, or in his own proper person, entered into the narrative. And there was a something in the girl’s eyes, deep down where the warm gray was lighted to warmer blue, which hadn’t been there before. It completed the woman in her. With an inner flush of creative pride Gloria communed with herself upon the new miracle: “This is a wonderful and lovable thing that I have made.” Instinctive honesty compelled her, however, to add: “But somebody else has given the finishing touch.” She was too keen an observer not to suspect who her fellow creative artist was. Being of the ultra-blessed who hold their tongues until it is time to speak, Gloria made no comment upon this phase, but set her mind singly to the problem in hand as presented by Darcy’s recital. “It’s time to own up,” was her decision. “I suppose so,” agreed the girl. “I don’t look forward to telling Maud.” “Let me handle Maud.” “Would you, Gloria? You _are_ good. However well you do it, though,” she added resentfully, “I suppose I’ll be ‘Poor Darcy’ again without even the compensation of being ‘Such a _nice_ girl.’” “Do you _feel_ like ‘Poor Darcy’?” “No.” “Do you _look_ like ‘Poor Darcy’?” The girl glanced at the long studio mirror back of her. “No, I don’t,” she replied, and two dimples came forward and offered corroborative testimony. “Then whom is the joke on?” The dimples vanished. “On me,” said their erstwhile proprietor. “Don’t be an imbecile!” adjured her mentor. “Can’t help it,” returned Darcy dolefully. “I’ve got the habit.” “Break it. Hark to the voice of Pure Reason (that’s me). As long as you were ‘Poor Darcy,’ you had to invent a fiancé or go without, didn’t you?” “Yes.” “And your invention was sure to be a regular old Frankenstein monster, and to come back and devour you as soon as you were found out.” “I can hear the clanking of his joints this minute!” “You can’t. He isn’t there. If you were still ‘Poor Darcy,’ there’d be no hope for you. You’re not. You’re something totally different.” “That’s your view of it,” returned the dispirited Darcy. “But to other—” “It’s anybody’s view that isn’t blind as a bat! Half the men you meet are crazy about you. Aren’t they?” “I haven’t met many, lately,” said Darcy demurely. “You met plenty at our party. Even Maud and Helen saw the effect. Their eyes bunged out!” “I don’t see how their eyes bunging out is going to help explain Sir Montrose Veyze I, let alone Sir Montrose Veyze II.” “Why worry, when I’m here to take the burden from you? I propose,” said Miss Greene relishingly, “to tell those girls the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.” “Gloria! They’ll pass it on and I’ll be the laughing-stock—” “Will they! I dare ’em to pass it on!”