had gone back to Normandy."

"I'm going next month. Meanwhile I rented Thimble Island--"

"I wrote you that I was coming here to 'Wake-Robin,' Miss Challoner's
place," she said pettishly, "and that I was sure there would be one or
two commissions for you in the neighborhood if you cared to come."

"It was very kind of you. I'm sorry. It's a little too late now. I'm
due at Havre in August."

She made a gesture of mock helplessness.

"There. I thought so. My plans for you never seem to work out. It's
really quite degrading the way I'm pursuing you. It almost seems as if
you didn't want me"

He leaned over the back of her chair, his lips close to her ear. "You
know better than that. But I'm such hopeless material to work with.
These people, the kind of people one has to paint--they want lies. It
gives me a diabolical pleasure to tell them the truth. I'll never
succeed. O Madame! I'm afraid you'll have to give me up."

"And Hermia?" she asked.

He laughed.

"An _enfant terrible_! Has she no parent--or guardians? Do _you_
encourage this sort of thing?"