of surprise on
his face, she burst forth in such a gale of merriment that the little
glade was filled with the music of her glee; while, in spite of himself,
the painter joined.

"Oh!" she cried, "but that _is_ funny! I am glad, glad!"

"Now, what do you mean by that?" he demanded.

"Why--why--that's exactly what I was trying to get courage enough to
confess to you!" she gasped. And then she told him how she had spied upon
him from the arbor in the rose garden; and how, in his absence, she had
visited his studio.

"But how in the world did you get in? The place was always locked, when I
was away."

"Oh," she said quaintly, "there was a good genie who let me in through the
keyhole. I didn't meddle with anything, you know--I just looked at the
beautiful room where you work. And I didn't glance, even, at the picture
on the easel. The genie told me you wouldn't like that. I would not have
drawn the curtain anyway, even if I hadn't been told. At least, I don't
_think_ I would--but perhaps I might--I can't always tell what I'm going
to do, you know."

Suddenly, the artist remembered finding the studio door open with Conrad
Lagrange's key in the lock, and how the novelist had berated himself with
such exaggerated vehemence; and, in a flash, came the thought of James
Rutlidge's visit, that afternoon, and of his strange manner and
insinuating remarks.

"I think I know the name of your good genie," said the painter, facing the
girl, seriously. "But tell me, did no one disturb you while you were in
the studio?"

Her cheeks colored painfully, and all the laughter was gone from her voice
as she replied, "I didn't want you to know that part."

"But I must know," he insisted gravely.

"Yes," she said, "Mr. Rutlidge found me there; and I ran away through the
garden. I don't like him. He frightens me. Please, is it necessary for us
to talk about it any more? I had to make my confession of course, but must
we talk about _that_ part?"

"No," he answered, "we need not talk about it. It was necessary for me to
know; but we will never mention that part, again. When we are back in the
orange groves, you shall come to the rose garden and to the studio, as
often as you like; your good genie and I will see to it that you are not
disturbed--by any one."

Her face brightened at his words. "And do you really like for me to make
music for you--as Mr. Lagrange says you do?"

"I can't begin to tell you how much I like it," he answere