g her to see me, Livy," returned Aunt Madge. "We will
have a little tea party, and Deb shall distinguish herself," but Greta
only smiled faintly when Olivia repeated this.

"Some day, perhaps," she said, quietly, and then her eyes had suddenly
filled with tears. "Oh, Mrs. Luttrell, we have had such a dreadful
time. Nurse only left him a minute, and he managed to get to the
brandy. It must have been Roberts's fault that the cellarette was
unlocked, but ever since he has seemed quite mad; we were obliged to
send for Dr. Luttrell." And then at the thought of the grim shadows
brooding over that unhappy home, Olivia's little plans seemed out of
place.

Mr. Gaythorne kept his promise, and before Robert Barton left them, the
picture was sent to the corner house.

Mr. Barton, who had just finished his sketch of Dot and the kitten, had
that moment invited Olivia to look at it.

"I may touch it up a bit more, but I suppose it will do now," he said,
in a tone of complacency.

"Do! it is beautiful--it is perfectly charming. Oh, if we were only
rich enough to buy it for ourselves, but," looking at him severely,
"you know what my husband said this morning, Mr. Barton, that he would
not allow me to accept it as a gift. You are to take it round to that
picture dealer's in Harbut Street, and see if they will not give you a
fair price for it, and then you must set about something bigger for the
Royal Academy." And though Robert Barton shook his head in a
melancholy dissenting fashion, he knew that Dr. Luttrell had been right.

[Illustration: "It is beautiful--it is perfectly charming."]

"I should have liked you to have it," he said, with a sigh, "but I
suppose beggars ought not to be generous. If I only get on, I will
paint Dot again;" and then Martha had come in with the picture.

"There is no light now. I shall have to wait till to-morrow, but of
course your old gentleman knows that."

Robert Barton always spoke of him as the old gentleman, but when Olivia
had first mentioned his name, he had seemed a little startled, and had
questioned her about him.

"He lives alone," he said presently; "it is rather an uncommon name.
There were some Gaythornes in London--a firm of solicitors--perhaps it
is one of those. They make plenty of money sometimes." And then the
subject had dropped.

Olivia, who had promised to spend an hour or two with Mr. Gaythorne
that evening, looked at the clock, and then folded up her work; bu