e. Then she said:

"Listen, then, to my story," and repeated the facts April had told her,
but as April could never have told them, so profound was her
understanding of the motives of the two girls in exchanging identities,
so tender her treatment of the wayward Diana. Truly this "unfulfilled
woman" was greater in the width and depth of her soul than many of
those to whom life has given fulfilment of their dreams.

Daylight faded, and shadows stole through the open windows. In the
large, low-ceiled room clustered with saddles and harness and exquisite
pictures, everything grew dim, except their white faces, and the
glistening of tears as they dripped from April's lids.

"I must ask to be forgiven," said Kenna very humbly, at last. "My only
plea is that my friendship for Kerry blinded me. And . . ." he halted
an instant before the confession of his trouble. "I once loved that
little wayward girl."

So it was Diana Vernilands who had proved false and sent him into the
wilds! Somehow that explained much to them all: much for forgiveness,
but very much more for pity and sympathy.

Suddenly the peace of eventide was rudely shattered by the jarring
clank of a motor being geared-up for starting. Evidently Ghostie's
friends were departing in the same aloof spirit with which they had
held apart all the afternoon. No one in the studio stirred to speed
the parting guests. It did not seem fitting to obtrude upon the pride
of the great. A woman's voice bade good-bye, and Ghostie was heard
warning them of a large rock fifty yards up the lane. A man called
good-night, and they were off.

"By Jove! I know that fellow's voice," puzzled Sarle. April thought
she did too, but she was in a kind of happy trance where voices did not
matter. The next episode was Ghostie at the studio window blotting out
the evening skies.

"They have gone," she timidly announced.

"Ah! Joy go with them," remarked Clive, more in relief than regret.

"But there is still one of them in my room."

"_What?_"

"She has been waiting to speak to you all the afternoon; they all have,
but they could not face the crowd."

"Pore fellers," said Clive, with cutting irony.

"The one in my room's--a girl," said Ghostie--"a friend of yours."

"She has strange ways," commented Clive glumly. "But ask her to come
in. These also are my friends."

Ghostie disappeared. Simultaneously the two men arose; remarking that
they must be going--they had