s,--he
couldn't make it out. That would come later.

At the time its only effect was to deepen his private satisfaction at
having hammered Joe Bradley; to quicken his attitude of championship
towards his mother and towards India, till ultimately the glow of his
fervent devotion fused them both into one dominant idea.

CHAPTER VII.

"He it is--the innermost one who awakens my being with his deep
hidden touches."--TAGORE.

Lilamani read and re-read that letter curled among her cushions in the
deep window-seat of the studio, a tower room with tall windows looking
north, over jagged pine tops, to the open moor.

And while she read, Nevil stood at his easel, seizing and recording, the
unconscious grace of her pose, the rapt stillness of her face. He was
never weary of painting her--never quite satisfied with the result;
always within an ace of achieving the one perfect picture that should
immortalise a gleam from her inner uncaptured loveliness--the essence of
personality that eternally foils the sense, while it sways the spirit.
Impossible, of course. One might as well try and catch the fragrance of
a rose, the bloom of an April dawn, or any other fragment of the world's
unseizable beauty But there remained the joy of pursuing--and pursuing,
not achieving, is the salt of life.

Something in her pose, her absorption--lips just parted, shadow of
lashes on her cheek, primrose-pale sari against the green velvet
curtain--had fired him, lit a spark of inspiration....

If he made a decent thing of it, Roy should have it for a companion to
the Antibes pastel: her two aspects--wife of Nevil; mother of Roy. Later
on, the boy would understand. His star stood higher than usual, just
then. For Nevil had detested writing that letter of rebuke; had not
dared show it to his wife; and Roy had taken it like a man. No more
lamentations, so far. Certainly not on this occasion, judging by her
rapt look, her complete absorption that gave him the chance of catching
her unawares.

For, in truth, she was unaware; lost to everything but the joy of
contact with her son. The pang of parting had been dulled to a hidden
ache; but always the blank was there, however amply filled with other
claims on heart and spirit. A larger schoolroom now: and Nevil, with his
new Eastern picture on hand, making constant demands on her--as
usual--in the initial stages; till the subject of the moment eclipsed
everything, every one--sometimes e