other from the hour we met--it is not worth the self-deception
you are content with."

"Self-deception!" he repeated, flushing up.

"Yes. Because you do care more for me than what you have said about our
friendship indicates.... And I care more for your regard than you seem
willing to recognise--"

"I am very glad to--"

"Listen, Kelly. Can't we be honest with ourselves and with each other?
Because--our being here, now--my leaving that place in the way I
did--surprises me. I want to find out why there has been confusion,
constraint, somewhere--there is _something_ to clear up between us--I
have felt that, vaguely, at moments; now I _know_ it. Let us try to find
out what it is, what is steadily undermining our friendship."

"Nothing, Valerie," he said, smiling. "I am as fond of you as ever. Only
you have found time for other friendships. Your life has become more
interesting, fuller, happier--"

"Not happier. I realise that, now, as you say it." She glanced around
her; swiftly her dark eyes passed over things familiar. "I was happier
here than I have ever been in all my life," she said. "I love this
room--and everything in it. You know I do, Louis. But I couldn't very
well come here when you were using all those models. If you think that I
have neglected you, it is a silly and unfair thing to think. If I did
neglect you I couldn't help it. And you didn't seem to care."

He shrugged and looked up at the outlined men's figures partly covering
the canvas above them. Her gaze followed his, then again she raised
herself on one elbow and looked around her, searching with quick eyes
among the shadows.

"Where is my portrait?"

"Behind the tapestry."

"Have you abandoned it?"

"I don't know."

Her smile became tremulous: "Are you going to abandon the original,
too?"

"I never possessed very much of you, did I?" he said, sulkily; and
looked up at her quick exclamation of anger and surprise.

"What do you mean? You had all of me worth having--" there came a quick
catch, in her throat--"you had all there is to me--confidence in you,
gratitude for your friendship, deep, happy response to your every
mood--my unquestioning love and esteem--"

"Your _love_?" he repeated, with an unpleasant laugh.

"What else do you call it?" she demanded, fiercely. "Is there a name
less hackneyed for it? If there is, teach it to me. Yet--if ever a girl
truly loved a man, I have loved you. And I do love you, dearly,
honestly, clean