it wasn't nice, you know."

"Oh, yes, I--I remember."

"I've asked him to change it," went on David, in a grieved voice. "I
asked him just the other day, but he wouldn't."

"Perhaps he--he didn't want to." Miss Holbrook spoke very quickly, but
so low that David barely heard the words.

"Didn't want to? Oh, yes, he did! He looked awful sober, and as if he
really cared, you know. And he said he'd give all he had in the world
if he really could change it, but he couldn't."

"Did he say--just that?" Miss Holbrook was leaning forward a little
breathlessly now.

"Yes--just that; and that's the part I couldn't understand," commented
David. "For I don't see why a story--just a story made up out of
somebody's head--can't be changed any way you want it. And I told him
so."

"Well, and what did he say to that?"

"He didn't say anything for a minute, and I had to ask him again. Then
he sat up suddenly, just as if he'd been asleep, you know, and said,
'Eh, what, David?' And then I told him again what I'd said. This time
he shook his head, and smiled that kind of a smile that isn't really a
smile, you know, and said something about a real, true-to-life story's
never having but one ending, and that was a logical ending. Lady of the
Roses, what is a logical ending?"

The Lady of the Roses laughed unexpectedly. The two little red spots,
that David always loved to see, flamed into her cheeks, and her eyes
showed a sudden sparkle. When she answered, her words came
disconnectedly, with little laughing breaths between.

"Well, David, I--I'm not sure I can--tell you. But perhaps I--can find
out. This much, however, I am sure of: Mr. Jack's logical ending
wouldn't be--mine!"

What she meant David did not know; nor would she tell him when he
asked; but a few days later she sent for him, and very gladly
David--able now to go where he pleased--obeyed the summons.

It was November, and the garden was bleak and cold; but in the library
a bright fire danced on the hearth, and before this Miss Holbrook drew
up two low chairs.

She looked particularly pretty, David thought. The rich red of her
dress had apparently brought out an answering red in her cheeks. Her
eyes were very bright and her lips smiled; yet she seemed oddly nervous
and restless. She sewed a little, with a bit of yellow silk on
white--but not for long. She knitted with two long ivory needles
flashing in and out of a silky mesh of blue--but this, too, she soon
ceased