with the writings of the late Charles Dickens. Well?"

Again Miss Greeby pointed to the picture. "She's very pretty."

"I shouldn't have painted her otherwise."

"Oh, then the original of that portrait does exist?"

"Could you call it a portrait if an original didn't exist?" demanded
the young man tartly. "Since you want to know so much, you may as well
come to the gypsy encampment on the verge of the wood and satisfy
yourself." He threw on a Panama hat, with a cross look. "Since when have
you come to the conclusion that I need a dry nurse?"

"Oh, don't talk bosh!" said Miss Greeby vigorously, and springing to her
feet. "You take me at the foot of the letter and too seriously. I only
came here to see how my old pal was getting on."

"I'm all right and as jolly as a sandboy. Now are you satisfied?"

"Quite. Only don't fall in love with the original of your portrait."

"It's rather late in the day to warn me," said Lambert dryly, "for I
have known the girl for six months. I met her in a gypsy caravan when on
a walking tour, and offered to paint her. She is down here with her
people, and you can see her whenever you have a mind to."

"There's no time like the present," said Miss Greeby, accepting the
offer with alacrity. "Come along, old boy." Then, when they stepped out
of the cottage garden on to the lawns, she asked pointedly, "What is her