“Yes, since you choose to put it that way,” he had replied, nettled. He believed that women liked a man of spirit and generally yielded to a show of masterfulness. He was very young. Taking up his parable with greater confidence, he showed her the social and moral necessity of immediate recourse to his respectable protection. Naturally he admired her loyalty, he signified, with a magnanimous wave of the hand; but there were certain things girls did not quite comprehend; a man's judgment had to be trusted. He invited her to surrender entirely to his wisdom. The end of it all was his ignominious dismissal. She would not see him until he had begged Jimmie's pardon on his knees. But now she buried her face in the sofa-cushions and sobbed. It was her first poignant disillusion. Tony, whom she loved with all her heart, was just like everybody else, incapable of pure faith, ready to believe the worst. He was cruel, uncharitable. She would never speak to him again. And the sweet shy dream of her young life was over. It was very tragical. Jimmie's step coming up the studio stairs caused her to spring from the sofa and frantically dry her eyes before the mirror. The steps advanced along the passage, and soon Jimmie's head appeared at the door. “Where have you hidden the little watercolour box?” he asked cheerily. “In the cupboard. On the second shelf,” she replied, without turning round. He caught sight of the reflection of a tear-stained face, and came and stood by her side. “Why, you've been crying!” “I suppose I have,” she admitted with affectionate defiance, looking up into his face. “Why should n't I, if I like? It's not a crime.” “It's worse--it's a blunder,” he quoted with a smile. “It can't do any one any good, and it makes your pretty nose red. That will spoil your good looks.” “I wish it would. My looks will never matter to anybody,” she said desperately. He put his arm round her shoulders, just as he had done since she could remember. “What has happened to distress you--more than usual?” he added. She was silent for a moment, and hung her head. “I've broken off with Tony,” she said in a low voice. “You'll mend it up with Tony at once, my dear.” “I'll never marry him,” declared Aline. “You'll write and tell him that you'll marry him at the very first opportunity. There are reasons why you should, Aline, grave reasons.” “You wouldn't have me marry any one I dislike intensely?” she flashed. “Wouldn't you do it to please me, even though you hated him violently? I have been going to speak to you about this. It's high time you were married, dear, and I particularly wish it. So make friends with Tony as soon as ever you can.” “I never want to see Tony again--until he has gone on his bended knees to you,” said Aline, with a quivering lip. “I don't want to breathe the same air with any one who does n't think of you as I do.”