intrusion, but at the sight of Miss Greeby this irritability changed to
a glance of suspicion. Lambert, from old associations, liked his visitor
very well on the whole, but that feminine intuition, which all creative
natures possess, warned him that it was wise to keep her at arm's
length. She had never plainly told her love; but she had assuredly
hinted at it more or less by eye and manner and undue hauntings of his
footsteps when in London. He could not truthfully tell himself that he
was glad of her unexpected visit. For quite half a minute they stood
staring at one another, and Miss Greeby's hard cheeks flamed to a poppy
red at the sight of the man she loved.

"Well, Hermit." she observed, when he made no remark. "As the mountain
would not come to Mahomet, the prophet has come to the mountain."

"The mountain is welcome," said Lambert diplomatically, and stood
aside, so that she might enter. Then adopting the bluff and breezy,
rough-and-ready-man-to-man attitude, which Miss Greeby liked to see in
her friends, he added: "Come in, old girl! It's a pal come to see a pal,
isn't it?"

"Rather," assented Miss Greeby, although, woman-like, she was not
entirely pleased with this unromantic welcome. "We played as brats
together, didn't we?

"Yes," she added meditatively, when following Lambert into his studio,
"I think we are as chummy as a man and woman well can be."

"True enough. You were always a good sort, Clara. How well you are
looking--more of a man than ever."