o idea of
anything else. But now that I know the truth, of course I realise at
once that he was not so. And, oh, Dr. Dick, I had a terrible scene with
Ronnie!"

Dick stood up.

"Tell me," he said.

"I told Ronnie that he was utterly, preposterously, and altogether
selfish, and that I was ashamed of him."

"Whew! You certainly did not mince matters," said Dr. Dick. "What had
poor old Ronnie done?"

"He had talked, from the moment of his return, of very little save the
'cello he has brought home. He had suggested that it might amuse me to
put it into a bassinet. Then when at last tea was over, he proposed, as
the most delightful proceeding possible, that we should adjourn to the
studio, and that I should sit and listen while he made a first attempt
to play his 'cello--which, by the way, he calls, the 'Infant of Prague,'
explaining to me that it is the nicest infant that ever was."

"Oh, that confounded Infant!" exclaimed Dr. Dick. "I have hated it from
the first! But really, Mrs. West "--he looked puzzled--"all this was no
doubt enthusiasm misplaced. But then Ronnie always is a perfect infant
himself, where new toys are concerned. You can hardly realise how much
he has looked forward to showing you that 'cello. His behaviour also
proved a decided tendency to self-absorption; but there the artistic
temperament comes in, which always creates a world of its own in which
it dwells content, often at the expense of duties and obligations
connected with outer surroundings. We all know that this is Ronnie's
principal failing. But--excuse me for saying so--it hardly deserved
quite so severe an indictment from you."

Helen wrung her hands.

Suddenly Dr. Dick took them both, firmly in his.

"Why don't you tell me the truth?" he said.

Then Helen told him.

She never could remember afterwards exactly how she told him, and no
one but Helen ever knew what Dr. Dick said and did. But, months
later--when in her presence aspersions were being cast on Dick for his
indomitable ambition, his ruthless annihilation of all who stood in his
way, his utter lack of religious principle and orthodox belief--Helen,
her sweet face shadowed by momentary sadness, her eyes full of pathetic
remembrance, spoke up for Ronnie's chum. "He may be a bad old thing in
many ways," she said; "I admit that the language he uses is calculated
to make his great-aunt Louisa, of sacred memory, turn in her grave!
But--he is a tower of strength in one's hour