garet Keith, who had watched closely, decided that Mrs. Chudleigh
had been alone with her host long enough, but for a time she could see
no suitable means of separating them. By and by, however, Millicent
came towards her and she beckoned the girl.

"Isn't Arrowdale near your aunts' place in the North?" she said.
"There's a picture of the hills round it that I think you would like.
Ask Colonel Challoner to show it you."

Millicent joined the others, and when she spoke about the picture Mrs.
Chudleigh went away. She thought she had said enough, for her object
had been to plant a seed of doubt about his son's character in
Challoner's; mind. If he considered sensitiveness, artistic talent,
and imagination failings in a Challoner, she had given him food for
thought, which was as far as she wished to go just then, and on the
whole she thought she had reason to be satisfied. When she had moved
away, Challoner showed Millicent a picture of grey hills and a sullen
tarn, half revealed between folds of rolling vapour, and the girl was
stirred to keen appreciation.

"It's beautiful and full of life," she said. "One can see the mist
drive by and the ripples break upon the stones. Perhaps it's because I
know the tarn I like the picture so much, but it makes one realize the
rugged grandeur and melancholy charm of the place. I suppose that is
genius; who is the painter?"

"My son," said the Colonel, and added with a curious smile: "You are
the second person who has lately tried to persuade me that he should
have been an artist."

Millicent saw he was troubled, though she could not imagine the reason.

"I hardly know Captain Challoner, whom I only met once, but it is
obvious that he has talent. You would sooner have him a soldier?"

"Very much sooner."'

"But he is one and I understand has distinguished himself. After all,
it is perhaps a mistake to think of genius as limited to one ability,
music or painting for example. Real genius, the power of
understanding, is more comprehensive; the man who has it ought to be
successful at whatever he undertakes."

"I'm dubious," said Challoner. "It strikes me as a rather daring
theory."

"It isn't mine," Millicent answered, blushing. "It's a favourite theme
of a philosopher I'm fond of, and he insists upon it when he speaks
about great men. Perhaps I'm talking too freely, but I feel that
Captain Challoner's being able to paint well shouldn't prevent his
making a good of