right till Mrs. Fargus came, she upset me. It was all in my mind
before, no doubt; but she brought it out. Now I can't interest myself
in anything. I really don't care to go to this tennis party, and the
people who go there are not in the least interesting. I am certain I
should not meet a soul whom I should care to speak to. No, I won't go
there. There's a lot to be done in the greenhouses, and in the
afternoon I will write a long letter to Mrs. Fargus. She promised to
send me a list of books to read.'

There was nothing definite in her mind, but something was germinating
within her, and when the work of the day was done, she wondered at the
great tranquillity of the garden. A servant was there in a print
dress, and the violet of the skies and the green of the trees seemed
to be closing about her like a tomb. 'How beautiful!' Mildred mused
softly; 'I wish I could paint that.'

A little surprised and startled, she went upstairs to look for her box
of water-colours; she had not used it since she left school. She found
also an old block, with a few sheets remaining; and she worked on and
on, conscious only of the green stillness of the trees and the romance
of rose and grey that the sky unfolded. She had begun her second
water-colour, and was so intent upon it as not to be aware that a new
presence had come into the garden. Alfred Stanby was walking towards
her. He was a tall, elegantly dressed, good-looking young man.

'What! painting? I thought you had given it up. Let me see.'

'Oh, Alfred, how you startled me!'

He took the sketch from the girl's lap, and handing it back, he said: