n, please; I'm not really. Only we
writing people have 'temperaments,' just as artists have--Mr. Somerled
himself, for instance. My brother scolded me, and I deserved it. He is
_so_ interested in you and your talent for writing, and wants to be your
friend. You won't blame him for my fault, will you?"

Of course I said no, and she held out her hand. When I'd put mine into
it, she pressed it gently, and before letting it go asked in a lower
voice if Mr. Somerled had told me why they quarrelled.

I shook my head emphatically as I answered that he hadn't said a word,
and she looked suddenly much happier. "That is _like_ him!" she
exclaimed--if one can exclaim in a whisper. "Well, we must forget what's
passed, and think of the future. Basil and I have hired a car now, and
will travel in it; but that will be all the better for our novel, as
I've just been telling Mr. Somerled, for we shan't have anything to
distract our minds from the scenery and our notebooks. I've begged him
to feel _no_ regrets: for now we're friends again, and we shall meet
constantly, no doubt, without any embarrassment, but a great deal of
pleasure. As for you, dear little girl, you mustn't feel that the cloud
we've passed through need shadow you. It had to do only with us
grown-ups. You have but to 'play dolls' and be happy, until you're
safely tied up in your mother's apron-strings. Not that she's likely to
have any!" And Mrs. West laughed, showing her white teeth that are
almost like a child's.

"Thank you," I said. "I mean to be happy--_very_ happy!"

She looked over her shoulder at Mr. Norman, as if giving him a signal,
and he came and talked to me. He said that he had hardly slept all
night, because he was so miserable over what had happened, for every
one's sake, but especially for his own, as he felt that a beautiful hope
had been snatched away from him. "It was the hope of a friendship with
you," he added. "But now we'll take it up just where it fell down, won't
we, finding that it isn't broken after all?"

While we were shaking hands I heard Mrs. West tell Mr. Douglas that I
was the daughter of Mrs. Ballantree MacDonald, and he seemed immensely
astonished, just as Mr. Somerled had, and Mrs. West and Mr. Norman.

I wonder why every one is so surprised? Can it be that actresses do not
often have children?

We bade each other good-bye, all of us, for Mrs. West and Mr. Norman are
going to see some places that apparently Mr. Somerled doesn'