One other of Jimmie's friends maintained relations with him. This was Connie Deering. She had gone abroad soon after the disaster, and moved by various feelings for which she rather forbade her impulsive self to account, had written one or two oddly expressed letters. In the first one she had touched lightly upon the difficult subject. She would not have believed a word of it, if she had not heard it from his own lips. If he would write to her and say that it was all a lie, she would accept his word implicitly. He was either a god or a devil--a remark that filled Jimmie with considerable alarm. A shrewd brain was inside the pretty butterfly head. In his reply he ignored the question, an example which Connie followed in her second letter. This consisted mainly in a rambling account of the beauty of Stresa and the comforts and excellent cuisine of the hotel by the lake; but a postscript informed him that Norma was travelling about with her for an indefinite period, and that she had heard nothing of Morland, who having easily won his election was now probably busy with the beginning of the autumn session. Jimmie, unversed in the postscriptal ways of women, accepted the information as merely the literal statement of facts. A wiser man would have grasped the delicate implication that the relations between the affianced pair were so strained that an interval of separation had seemed desirable. The unshaken faith of the man in the ultimate righteousness of things kept him serene; but the young girl who had no special faith, save in the perfect righteousness of Jimmie and the dastardly unrighteousness of the world in general and of Mr. Anthony Merewether in particular, found it difficult to live in these high altitudes of philosophy. Indeed she was a very miserable little girl when Jimmie was not by, and pined, and cried her heart out, and grew thin and pale and sharp-tempered, and filled her guardian with much concern. At last Jimmie took heroic measures. Without Aline's knowledge he summoned Tony Merewether to an interview. The young man came. Jimmie received him in the studio, begged him to take a seat, and rang the bell. The middle-aged housekeeper ran down in some perturbation at the unusual summons, for it was Jimmie's habit to shout up the stairs, generally to Aline, for anything he wanted. She received his instructions. Miss Aline would oblige him by coming down at once. During the interval of waiting he talked to Mr. Merewether of indifferent things, flattering himself on a sudden development of the diplomatic faculty. Aline ran into the room, and stopped short at the sight of the young man, uttering a little cry of indignant surprise. Jimmie cleared his throat, but the oration that he had prepared was never delivered. Aline marched straight up to the offending lover. “I don't see you on your knees,” she said.