personal matter. That was a wonderful collection of military and battle
pictures shown in Paris last winter."

She half withdrew her hand from his arm, and turned away. The sea winds
did not wholly account for the sudden color in her cheeks. She had seen
Armitage in Paris--in cafés, at the opera, but not at the great
exhibition of world-famous battle pictures; yet undoubtedly he had seen
her; and she remembered with instant consciousness the hours of
absorption she had spent before those canvases.

"It was a public exhibition, I believe; there was no great harm in seeing
it."

"No; there certainly was not!" He laughed, then was serious at once.
Shirley's tense, arrested figure, her bright, eager eyes, her parted
lips, as he saw her before the battle pictures in the gallery at Paris,
came up before him and gave him pause. He could not play upon that stolen
glance or tease her curiosity in respect to it. If this were a ship
flirtation, it might be well enough; but the very sweetness and
open-heartedness of her youth shielded her. It seemed to him in that
moment a contemptible and unpardonable thing that he had followed
her about--and caught her, there at Paris, in an exalted mood, to which
she had been wrought by the moving incidents of war.

"I was in Paris during the exhibition," he said quietly. "Ormsby, the
American painter--the man who did the _High Tide at Gettysburg_--is an
acquaintance of mine."

"Oh!"