The reconciliation of the younger folk had been a very simple matter. It was the doing of Connie Deering. The morning after Morland's confession she summoned Tony Merewether to an interview. He arrived wondering. She asked him point blank: “Are you still in love with Aline Marden or have you forgotten all about her?” The young fellow declared his undying affection. “Are you aware that you have treated her shamefully?” she said severely. “I am the most miserable dog unhung,” exclaimed the youth. He certainly looked miserable, thin, and worried. He gave his view of the position. Connie's heart went out to him. “Suppose I told you that everything was cleared up and you could go to Aline with a light conscience?” “I should go crazy with happiness!” he cried, springing to his feet. “Aline deserves a sane husband. She is one in a thousand.” “She is one in twenty thousand million!” “There she goes, hand in hand with Jimmie Padgate. It's to tell you that I've asked you to come. I hope you'll let them both know you're aware of it.” Satisfied that he was worthy of her confidence, she told him briefly what had occurred. “And now what are you going to do?” she asked, smiling. “Do? I'll go on my knees. I'll grovel at his feet. I'll ask him to make me a door-mat. I'll do any mortal thing Aline tells me.” “Well, go now and do your penance and be happy,” Connie said, holding out her hand. “I don't know how I can thank you, Mrs. Deering,” he cried. “You are the most gracious woman that ever lived!” A few moments later an impassioned youth was speeding in a hansom cab to Friary Grove. But Connie, with the memory of his clear-cut, radiant young face haunting her, sighed. Chance decreed that the very moment should bring her a letter from Jimmie, written that morning, full of his wonder and gratitude. She sighed again, pathetically, foolishly, unreasonably feeling left out in the cold. “I wonder whether it would do me good to cry,” she said, half aloud. But the footman entering with the announcement that the carriage which was to take her to her dressmaker was at the door, settled the question. She had to content herself with sighs. Tony Merewether did not go on his knees, as Aline had ordained; but he made his apology in so frank and manly a way that Jimmie forgave him at once. Besides, said he, what had he to forgive? “I feel like Didymus,” said Tony. Jimmie laughed as he clapped him on the shoulder and pushed him out of the studio. “You had better cultivate the feeling. He became a saint eventually. Aline will help to make you one.”