the same as beauty--that was what you said--you try to paint the truth,
you always see the beauty. But how can we know truth, unless we know
what is at the root of it?"

"I--think," murmured Greta, sotto voce, "you see one way--and he sees
another--because--you are not one person."

"Of course!" said Christian impatiently, "but why--"

A sound of humming interrupted her.

Nicholas Treffry was coming from the house, holding the Times in one
hand, and a huge meerschaum pipe in the other.

"Aha!" he said to Harz: "how goes the picture?" and he lowered himself
into a chair.

"Better to-day, Uncle?" said Christian softly.

Mr. Treffry growled. "Confounded humbugs, doctors!" he said. "Your
father used to swear by them; why, his doctor killed him--made him drink
such a lot of stuff!"

"Why then do you have a doctor, Uncle Nic?" asked Greta.

Mr. Treffry looked at her; his eyes twinkled. "I don't know, my dear. If
they get half a chance, they won't let go of you!"

There had been a gentle breeze all day, but now it had died away; not
a leaf quivered, not a blade of grass was stirring; from the house were