e enough to work the little odd bits," she explained. "You can
get every colour--exquisite colours, but they are so clear, and strong,
and new, and unpicturesque! I have to take refuge in all sorts of
dodges. I dip the white silks in tea, and coffee, to take off the
glare; and the greys in ink, to make them cloudy, and the rose and blue
in acids to tone them down into an old-world softness. Sometimes I dye
one end of a skein, and leave the other untouched; that gives quite a
good effect. I'm always on the look out for old silks, but they are
difficult to find, and the ordinary fancy-work emporium-keeper has not
awakened to the needs of pictures. When I asked one the other day for a
colour to work an old brick wall, she gaped at me as if I were mad.
However, with cunning and ingenuity, I have managed to collect quite a
useful selection..."

"You don't--excuse me! treat them with much consideration, now that you
have got them," Peignton said, lifting a tangled mass of colour from the
table, and smoothing it with careful fingers. "I remember my mother
doing crewel-work in the days of my youth, and having each separate
shade run through a kind of tunnel business in a roll of linen. You
pulled a thread from the roll, and--there you were! _They_ never grew
matted into balls."

"Ah, yes! My mother did too, but--excuse me, they lacked the real
artistic temperament. People with real artistic temperaments invariably
tangle their silks, if only for the joy of seeing the glorious mass of
colour they make matted together. Of course, if they chance to possess
an idle friend, whose hands are itching for work--"

"May I? Oh, that's splendid. I have a passion for unravelling string.
This will keep me quiet for quite a long time. Tell me what colour you
want next, and I'll coax him out!"

"Green; blue. A strand of each. If you like to experiment you can try
untwisting them, and mixing the shades."

Cassandra stitched on, a smile on her lips, but Dane, having extracted
the desired threads with unexpected ease, was too much engrossed in
watching to make any further effort on his own account. The graceful,
wholly feminine pose was another picture to add to the mental gallery.
His eyes followed the sweep of the right hand, and he said
involuntarily:

"That's a beautiful ring! I noticed it the first time I played bridge
with you. I've never seen you without it. It's the most beautiful ring
I have ever seen."

She