Jill offered it to her husband when she had finished reading, but St. John put her hand aside, and shook his head decisively. "You know that that isn't necessary between you and me," he said reproachfully. "I think he would like you to see it," she answered. He took it then and read it through; when he had done so he handed it back again with a grave half-troubled smile. "Considering how I, myself, was mistaken," he said, "I don't think that I have the right to censure him at all." Jill tore the note up slowly, watching the fragments intently as they fluttered from her fingers. The knowledge that her husband had misjudged her was the bitterest part of all. And yet in her heart she did not blame him; she even found excuses for him, but the pain was none the less acute because she refused to admit its reason, though no doubt it was easier borne, and would be more readily forgotten. "I am very much afraid," she said gently, with a slight hesitation of tone and manner, "that I, also, must have been at fault to cause two men to make the same mistake. I don't suppose that I have any right to blame him either. I think the wisest course would be to do as he suggests--forgive everything, and forget." And as St. John was of the same opinion the matter ended there, and if not entirely forgotten was at least never referred to between them again. CHAPTER NINETEEN. It was just two years after Jill's baby had been born that a very wonderful thing occurred; Mr St. John senior visited Thompkins and Co. for no less a purpose than calling upon his son's wife. He did not come unexpectedly; he wrote a week beforehand apprising them of the fact, and duly on the appointed date he pushed open the outer door and entered the mean little shop, standing in it, as it were, protestingly, his hat off, his shoulders slightly bowed; tall, and cross, and dignified--frowning at his son. St. John came forward quickly. He was expecting his father but pride forbade his making any preparation. He had been in the studio during the early part of the afternoon and was still in his working clothes though Jill had suggested to him the propriety of changing, but he had chosen to ignore the suggestion, arguing that that which was good enough for his wife should be good enough for his father too; and so he came forward as he was and stood in front of the visitor just as he might have done had he been any ordinary customer. The old man's glance travelled slowly from the strong face with its proud smile to the shabby suit of clothes, the stains upon them testifying to the nature of the wearer's work, and his carelessness as an operator. As he looked he smiled also. It was not a pleasant smile, and the younger man silently resented it. "Photography does not appear a very lucrative employment," he observed. "No," answered St. John. "At least I do not find it so." "Ah! Well, no doubt that assists you to realise the mistake you made."