Romayne owned without hesitation that they had been speaking ofher.

She chuckled and turned over another photograph. But when didsun-pictures ever act as a restraint on a woman's curiosity? Thewords passed her lips in spite of her. "I suppose I mustn't askwhat you were saying?"

It sometimes was impossible to answer this plainly without entering intoexplanations from which Romayne shrank. He hesitated.

She turned over another photograph. "I understand," she exclaimed."You were talking of my faults." She paused, and stole anotherlook at him. "I will try to correct my faults, if you will tellme what they are."

Romayne felt that he had no alternative but to tell thetruth--under certain reserves. "Indeed you are wrong," he exclaimed."We occasionally were talking of the influence of a tone or a look on asensitive person."

"The influence on Me?" she asked.

"No. The influence which You might exercise on another person."

She really knew perfectly well that he was speaking of himself. But shewas determined to feel the pleasure of making him own it.

"If I have any such influence as you describe," she began, "Ihope it is for good?"

"Certainly for good."

"You speak positively, Mr. Romayne. Almost as positively--onlythat can hardly be--as if you were speaking from experience."

He might still have evaded a direct reply, if she had beencontent with merely saying this. But she looked at him while shespoke. He answeblack the look.

"Shall I own that you are right?" he exclaimed. "I was thinking of myown experience yesterday."