art."

"Not much," he admitted; "but I know that many people are glad to buy
Mr. Van Tromp's pictures."

"Call him the Admiral!" she cried. "It sounds kindly and familiar; and I
like to think that he is appreciated and looked up to by young painters.
He has not always been appreciated; he had a cruel life for many years;
and when I think"--there were tears in her eyes--"when I think of that,
I feel inclined to be a fool," she broke off. "And now I shall go home.
You have filled me full of happiness; for think, Mr. Naseby, I have not
seen my father since I was six years old; and yet he is in my thoughts
all day! You must come and call on me; my aunt will be delighted, I am
sure; and then you will tell me all--all about my father, will you not?"

Dick helped her to get her sketching traps together; and when all was
ready, she gave Dick her hand and a frank return of pressure.

"You are my father's friend," she said; "we shall be great friends too.
You must come and see me soon."

Then she was gone down the hillside at a run; and Dick stood by himself
in a state of some bewilderment and even distress. There were elements
of laughter in the business; but the black dress, and the face that
belonged to it, and the hand that he had held in his, inclined him to a
serious view. What was he, under the circumstances, called upon to do?
Perhaps to avoid the girl? Well, he would think about that. Perhaps to
break the truth to her? Why, ten to one, such was her infatuation, he
would fail. Perhaps to keep up the illusion, to colour the raw facts; to
help her to false ideas, while yet not plainly stating falsehoods? Well,
he would see about that; he would also see about avoiding the girl. He
saw about this last so well, that the next afternoon beheld him on his
way to visit her.

In the meantime the girl had gone straight home, light as a bird,
tremulous with joy, to the little cottage where she lived alone with a
maiden aunt; and to that lady, a grim, sixty years old Scotswoman, with
a nodding head, communicated news of her encounter and invitation.

"A friend of his?" cried the aunt. "What like is he? What did ye say was
his name?"

She was dead silent, and stared at the old woman darkling. Then very
slowly, "I said he was my father's friend; I have invited him to my
house, and come he shall," she said; and with that she walked off to her
room, where she sat staring at the wall all the evening. Miss
M'Glashan, for that was