Ingram had included Cleo in his "confession." He
was rather inclined to doubt it, because he felt sure that the very
strangeness of that _liaison_ would have made Helen want to tell him
about it.

"And what do you intend to do with him ultimately?" he asked.

"Well, if I thought it would make you the least bit jealous, I should
announce that I intended to accept him. But as there is no possible
advantage to be gained by such a falsehood, it would be very
extravagant of me to waste it. I've scattered so many of them in my
time that I must be economical for the rest of my life."

Though he had never for a moment believed there was any possibility of
her marrying Ingram, he was yet relieved to hear her state her
intentions so definitely. Such was his sense of Ingram's unworthiness
of her!

A couple of days later he went to Margaret's studio-warming. Both the
experience and the anticipation of it were emotionally exciting. But
as a good many of Margaret's particular friends were there, her
attention had to be spread out a great deal, and he did not have to
talk to her much at first. Certainly there was nothing between them
that could be called conversation.

He found it soothing to talk a little with Mrs. Medhurst, who was
always equable, nice, and apparently in a pleased mood. She also had
been receiving long confidential letters from his father, and she
expressed the fear that at the rate the latter was now going in the
direction of iconoclasm he was courting public suppression.

"He is very much in earnest," she added. "I have written him at length
about the bringing up of daughters--he insisted on having my views. He
is very modest, though--just ventures to hope for success. 'If I only
had Morgan's pen,' he once wrote, yearningly."

To be reminded now how completely his father had been won over to
belief in him was but to have all the bitterness of his failure again
concentrated in one moment.

During the rest of the time he found himself carrying on a
half-hearted conversation here and there, yet with all his attention
on Margaret. He followed her with his eyes, watching her every
movement and gesture, noting her every smile, catching her laughter
and the sound of her voice. Something that was light, that was
sunshine, seemed to detach itself from her and to fill the whole room;
something that brought a sense of happiness to mingle with his strange
mood.

He felt that happiness as a sick man feels a cool, s