is, down at the trout-river, the day before yesterday, somebody saw you kissing a picture in a locket, and I feared if you mentioned having _my_ portrait they might--they take up such ridiculous fancies at home--they _might_ think it was _mine_."

"Is it possible they would imagine anything so unlikely?"

"Of _course_"--with eager haste--"_I_ know it was not, but they might choose to think differently; and, besides, something has whispered to me two or three times since that perhaps I was wrong in giving my photograph to you at all. Was I?" wistfully.

"That is a hard question to ask _me_, Phyllis, who am so happy in the possession of it. I certainly do not think you were."

"Then you would see no harm in my giving my picture to anyone?"

"Of course, I do not say it would be right of you to go about giving it to every man you meet."

"No? Then why should I give it to you in particular. After all, I believe I was wrong."

"Oh, that is quite another thing altogether," says Mr. Carrington, biting his lip. "You have known me a long time; I may almost be considered an old friend. And, besides, you can be quite sure that I will prize it as it deserves."

"That is saying very little," I return, gloomily. His reasoning seems to me poor and unsatisfactory. I begin to wish my wretched likeness back again in my untidy drawer.

"But why are you so sure it was _not_ your picture I was caught admiring the other day?" asks Mr. Carrington, presently, with an ill-suppressed smile.

"Nonsense!" I reply angrily. (I hate being laughed at). "For what possible reason would you put _my_ face into your locket? I _knew_ you would think me vain when I began, but I am _not_--and--and I am very sorry I took the trouble to explain it to you at all."

"Forgive me, Phyllis. I did not mean to offend you, and I do not think you vain. I was merely imagining what a fatuous fool I must have looked when discovered in the act you describe. But have you no curiosity to learn who it _really_ was I was so publicly embracing?"

"I _know_," I return, with a nod; "it was that little girl you told me of some time since--the village maiden, you remember, whose face was so dear to you. Am I not right!"

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