ide in his grown-up daughter, and Janet's father
had hardly thought of her seriously in connection with
this new relation, which was to him so precarious and so
sweet. Its realization had never been close enough for
practical considerations; it was an image, something in
the clouds; and if he still hoped and longed for its
materialization there were times when he feared even to
regard it too closely lest it should vanish. His first
thought at this announcement of Elfrida's was of what it
might signify of change, what bearing it had upon her
feeling, upon her intention. Then he thought of its
immediate results, which seemed to be unfortunate. But
in the instant he had for reflection he did not consider
Janet at all.

"Ah, yes! It was contemptible--but _contemptible!_ I did
it partly to hurt her, and partly, I think, to gratify
my vanity. You would not have thought anything so bad of
me perhaps?" She looked up at him childishly. They were
strolling about the quiet spaces of the Temple Courts.
It was a pleasant afternoon in February, the new grass
was pushing up. They could be quite occupied with one
another--they had the place almost to themselves.
Elfrida's well-fitting shabby little jacket hung unbuttoned,
and she swung Cardiff's light walking-stick as they
sauntered. He, with his eyes on her delicately flushed
face and his hands unprofessorially in his pockets, was
counting the minutes that were left them.

"You wouldn't have, would you?" she insisted.

"I would think any womanly fault you like of you," he
laughed, "but one--the fear to confess it."

Elfrida shut her lips with a little proud smile. "Do
you know," she said confidingly, "when you say things
like that to me I like you very much--but _very much!_"

"But not enough," he answered her quickly, "never enough,
Frida?"

The girl's expression changed. "You are not to call me
'Frida,'" she said, frowning a little. "It has an
association that will always be painful to me. When
people--disappoint me, I try to forget them in every way
I can." She paused, and Cardiff saw that her eyes were
full of tears. He had an instant of intense resentment
against his daughter. What brutality had she been guilty
of toward Elfrida in that moment of unreasonable jealousy
that surged up between them? He would fiercely like to
know. But Elfrida was smiling again, looking up at him
in wilful disregard of her wet eyes.

"Say 'Elfrida' please--all of it."

They had reac