He closed the door noiselessly. The house door
was standing open, and he went out beyond the porch,
and stood where the monkshood rose at the corner
of the garden bed. From this point he could see the
stranger through the open window, still and dim,
sitting head on hand. He had not moved.

A number of children going along the road stopped
and regarded the artist curiously. A boatman exchanged
civilities with him. He felt that possibly his
circumspect attitude and position seemed peculiar and
unaccountable. Smoking, perhaps, might seem more
natural. He drew pipe and pouch from his pocket,
filled the pipe slowly.

"I wonder," . . . he said, with a scarcely perceptible
loss of complacency. "At any rate we must
give him a chance." He struck a match in the virile
way, and proceeded to light his pipe.

Presently he heard his landlady behind him, coming
with his lamp lit from the kitchen. He turned,
gesticulating with his pipe, and stopped her at the door
of his sitting-room. He had some difficulty in
explaining the situation in whispers, for she did not
know he had a visitor. She retreated again with the
lamp, still a little mystified to judge from her manner,
and he resumed his hovering at the corner of the
porch, flushed and less at his ease.