the understanding of his speech depend at times on intuition rather than
intelligence.

The clock began to strike eleven. Harz muttered an excuse, shook hands
with his host, and bowing to his new acquaintance, went away. He caught
a glimpse of Greta's face against the window, and waved his hand to her.
In the road he came on Dawney, who was turning in between the poplars,
with thumbs as usual hooked in the armholes of his waistcoat.

"Hallo!" the latter said.

"Doctor!" Harz answered slyly; "the Fates outwitted me, it seems."

"Serve you right," said Dawney, "for your confounded egoism! Wait here
till I come out, I shan't be many minutes."

But Harz went on his way. A cart drawn by cream-coloured oxen was
passing slowly towards the bridge. In front of the brushwood piled on
it two peasant girls were sitting with their feet on a mat of grass--the
picture of contentment.

"I'm wasting my time!" he thought. "I've done next to nothing in two
months. Better get back to London! That girl will never make a painter!"
She would never make a painter, but there was something in her that he
could not dismiss so rapidly. She was not exactly beautiful, but she was
sympathetic. The brow was pleasing, with dark-brown hair softly turned
back, and eyes so straight and shining. The two sisters were very
different! The little one was innocent, yet mysterious; the elder seemed
as clear as crystal!