, to "Dear Miss Bell." In the end he wrote a single
line without any formality whatever, and when Elfrida
opened it an hour later she read:

"Will you let me paint your portrait for the Academy?

"JOHN-KENDAL.

"P.S.--Or any other exhibition you may prefer."

The last line was a stroke of policy. "She abhors Burlington
House," he had reflected.

The answer came next day, and he tore it open with rapid
fingers. "I can't think why--but if you wish it, yes.
But why not for the Academy, since you are disposed to
do me that honor?"

"Characteristic," thought Kendal grimly, as he tore up
the note. "She can't think why. But I'm glad the Academy
doesn't stick in her pretty throat--I was afraid it
would. It's the potent influence of the Private View."

He wrote immediately in joyful gratitude to make an
appointment for the next day, went to work vigorously
about his preparations, and when he had finished smoked
a series of pipes to calm the turbulence of his
anticipations. As a neighboring clock struck five he put
on his coat. Janet must know about this new idea of his;
he longed to tell her, to talk about it over the
old-fashioned Spode cup of tea she would give him--Janet
was a connoisseur in tea. He realized as he went downstairs
how much of the pleasure of his life was centering in
these occasional afternoon gossips with her, in the
mingled delight of her interest and the fragrance and
the comfort of that half-hour over the Spode tea-cup.
The association brought him a reminiscence that sent him
smiling to the nearest confectioner's shop, where he
ordered a supply of Italian cakes against the next day
that would make an ample provision for the advent of half
a dozen unexpected visitors to the studio. He would have
to do his best with afternoon sittings, Elfrida was not
available in the morning; and he thought compassionately
that his sitter must not be starved. "I will feed her
first," he thought ironically, remembering her keen
childish enjoyment of sugared things. "She will pose all
the better for some tea." And he walked on to Kensington
Square.

CHAPTER XXX.

"Janet," said Lawrence Cardiff a week later at breakfast,
"the Halifaxes have decided upon their American tour. I
saw Lady Halifax last night and she tells me they sail
on the twenty-first. They want you to go with them. Do
you feel disposed to do it?"

Mr. Cardiff looked at his daughter with eyes from which
the hardness that entered