said:

"Thank you kindly, miss!" and shuffled out. Noel paid for the draught,
and followed; and, behind her, the shining shop seemed to exhale a
perfumed breath of relief.

"You can't go back to work," she said to the woman. "Where do you live?"

"'Ornsey, miss."

"You must take a 'bus and go straight home, and put your hand at once
into weak Condy's fluid and water. It's swelling. Here's five
shillings."

"Yes, miss; thank you, miss, I'm sure. It's very kind of you. It does
ache cruel."

"If it's not better this afternoon, you must go to a doctor. Promise!"

"Oh, dear, yes. 'Ere's my 'bus. Thank you kindly, miss."

Noel saw her borne away, still sucking at her dirty swollen hand. She
walked on in a glow of love for the poor woman, and hate for the ladies
in the chemist's shop, and forgot her own trouble till she had almost
reached the hospital.

Another November day, a Saturday, leaving early, she walked to Hyde Park.
The plane-trees were just at the height of their spotted beauty.
Few--very few-yellow leaves still hung; and the slender pretty trees
seemed rejoicing in their freedom from summer foliage. All their delicate
boughs and twigs were shaking and dancing in the wind; and their
rain-washed leopard-like bodies had a lithe un-English gaiety. Noel
passed down their line, and seated herself on a bench. Close by, an
artist was painting. His easel was only some three yards away from her,
and she could see the picture; a vista of the Park Lane houses through,
the gay plane-tree screen. He was a tall man, about forty, evidently
foreign, with a thin, long, oval, beardless face, high brow, large grey
eyes which looked as if he suffered from headaches and lived much within
himself. He cast many glances at her, and, pursuant of her new interest
in "life" she watched him discreetly; a little startled however, when,
taking off his broad-brimmed squash hat, he said in a broken accent:

"Forgive me the liberty I take, mademoiselle, but would you so very
kindly allow me to make a sketch of you sitting there? I work very
quick. I beg you will let me. I am Belgian, and have no manners, you
see." And he smiled.

"If you like," said Noel.

"I thank you very much:"

He shifted his easel, and began to draw. She felt flattered, and a
little fluttered. He was so pale, and had a curious, half-fed look,
which moved her.

"Have you been long in England?" she said presently.

"Ever since the first m