r, and
that's the only thing he can do."

"Indeed it isn't!" cried Daphne.

"I'm very sorry to hear it. Suppose Foster's engaged, or at Aldershot?"

"He won't be. It's too sweet of Romer not going. Did you marry him
because you knew he would do whatever you told him?"

"I don't think it was that so much," said Valentia, thoughtfully, trying
on the hat in front of the glass. "I thought he was a strong silent man,
a man with an orange up his sleeve, as it were. But I've never seen the
orange."

"How funny of you! I should hate a mysterious person. You don't want
your husband to be a kind of conjurer."

"Yes, I do, as long as he doesn't wear a conjurer's evening dress. I
like being surprised. Now let's go and surprise Harry at his studio; we
must be quick, he's expecting us."

CHAPTER II

HARRY

Harry de Freyne stood in his usual position, smoking a cigarette, and
leaning a little forward, with his back to the mirror as if to resist
the temptation of looking into it. The family good looks were acutely
accentuated in this young man. He had the smooth, glossy dark hair,
white teeth, and speaking dark grey eyes that women like; clearly-cut
features, and the rather prominent chin, generally and mistakenly
supposed to show strength of character. His pleasant, clean-shaven,
slightly sunburnt face bore an expression of animation with a certain
humorous anxiety natural in a man who was generally a good deal in debt
and always a little in love. Further he had the advantage of a tall,
strong yet supple figure, with a natural grace of movement and much
personal charm. Harry knew he was good-looking and did not undervalue
the fact, but regarded it solely as an asset, not as a private
satisfaction. He regarded everything as an asset. He was no fop,
although he wore a single eye-glass rather as a concession to some ideal
of dandyism than as a help to clear vision. He could see remarkably
well, with or without it.

The long Empire mirror was placed above a delightful early English large
open fireplace, in which burnt a Parisian-looking wood fire. Harry was
the possessor of a fine--indeed, a magnificent studio, full of good old
things, chiefly other people's, and bad new things, principally his own.
The theory that all bad art is the result of sincere feeling was
certainly not exemplified in his case. The portrait of his cousin that
had been regarded as so full of promise was, as he always, said, the
only decent piec