overlook the farming is untold.'

Philip smiled, and came to the table where she was drawing. 'Do you
know this place?' said she, looking up in his face.

'Stylehurst itself! What is it taken from?'

'From this pencil sketch of your sister's, which I found in mamma's
scrap book.'

'You are making it very like, only the spire is too slender, and that
tree--can't you alter the foliage?--it is an ash.'

'Is it? I took it for an elm.'

'And surely those trees in the foreground should be greener, to throw
back the middle distance. That is the peak of South Moor exactly, if
it looked further off.'

She began the alterations, while Philip stood watching her progress, a
shade of melancholy gathering on his face. Suddenly, a voice called
'Laura! Are you there? Open the door, and you will see.'

On Philip's opening it, in came a tall camellia; the laughing face, and
light, shining curls of the bearer peeping through the dark green
leaves.

'Thank you! Oh, is it you, Philip? Oh, don't take it. I must bring
my own camellia to show Charlie.'