Jock stood up, plunged his hands in his pockets and looked down at the dissecter who had bared every sensitive nerve in his heart and soul.
"When—you write that book," the words drawled out the bitter thought, "just omit—me—please—if you have any mercy."
"Jock!" Constance sprang to her feet. "Jock—how could I know that you would care?"
"You—couldn't, of course."
"Is it because I saw you so?"
"No."
"You know of course—that I'd never speak of that to any one—I only used it for my book."
"If that will help your book—take it; but leave out——"
"What?"
"The girl—the redemption—and——"