"I think we are justified in indulging in a little camouflage there," he said. "We will tell Granny you are going to study art. Art covers a multitude of sins," he added with a lightness he was far from feeling. "One thing more, my dear. I have waited a good while to hear something about the young man who writes these voluminous letters."' He nodded at the envelope in Tony's lap. "I like his writing; but I should like to know something about him,—himself."
Tony flushed and averted her eyes for a moment. Then she looked up frankly.
"I haven't said anything because I didn't know what to say. He is Alan
Massey, the artist. I met him at Carlotta's. He wants to marry me."
"But you have not already accepted him?"
"No, I couldn't. He—he isn't the kind of man you would want me to marry. He is trying to be, for my sake though. I think he will succeed. I told him if he wanted to ask me again next summer I would tell him what my answer would be."
"He is on probation then?"
"Yes."
"And you care for him?"
"I—think so."
"You don't know it?"