well, then, I'll say it."

She was laughing when he caught her hands and looked at her, grave,
unsmiling. Suddenly her eyes filled with tears and her lip trembled.

"Forgive me, I meant no mockery," she whispered. "I had already fixed
the first day of June for--for the great change in our lives. Are you
content?"

"Yes." And before she knew what he was doing a brilliant flashed along
her ring finger and clung sparkling to it; and she stared at the gold
circlet and the gem flashing in the firelight.

There were tears in her eyes when she kissed it, looking at him while
her soft lips rested on the jewel.

Neither spoke for a moment; then, still looking at him, she drew the
ring from her finger, touched it again with her lips, and laid it gently
in his hand.

"No, dear," she said.

He did not urge her; but she knew he still believed that she would come
to think as he thought; and the knowledge edged her lips with tremulous
humour. But her eyes were very sweet and tender as she watched him lay
away the ring as though it and he were serenely biding their time.

"Such a funny boy," she said, "and such a dear one. He will never, never
grow up, will he?"

"Such an idiot, you mean," he said, drawing her into the big chair
beside him.

"Yes, I mean that, too," she said, impudently, nose in the air.
"Because, if I were you, Louis, I wouldn't waste any more energy in
worrying about a girl who is perfectly able to take care of herself, but
transfer it to a boy who apparently is not."

"How do you mean?"

"I mean about your painting. Dear, you've got it into that obstinate
head of yours that there's something lacking in your pictures, and there
isn't."

"Oh, Valerie! You know there is!"

"No, no, no! There isn't anything lacking in them. They're all of you,
Louis--every bit of you--as far as you have lived."

"What!"

"Certainly. As far as you have lived. Now live a little more, and let
more things come into your life. You can't paint what isn't in you; and
there's nothing in you except what you get out of life."

She laid her soft cheek against his.

"Get a little real love out of life, Louis; a little _real_ love. Then
surely, surely your canvases can not disguise that you know what life
means to us all. Love nobly; and the world will not doubt that love is
noble; love mercifully; and the world will understand mercy. For I
believe that what you are must show in your work, dear.

"Until now the world has s