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comfort and protect her. And yet—and he was forced to acknowledge it ruefully—she didn't look the least bit in the world like a person requiring either sympathy or protection. There was a confidence about her every look and gesture that made the idea seem utterly incongruous. Miles found himself wishing selfishly that she was not so evidently capable and self-reliant.


His pipe had gone out during his period of reflection, and he scratched a match to relight it. At the sound the girl turned and looked at him in smiling despair.

"I wish——! Can't you see," she asked, helplessly, "that I can't paint while you sit there staring at me?"

"Was I staring?" he asked, hypocritically.

"Well, weren't you?"

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