ythorne only held
obstinately to his opinion.

"My dear young lady," he said, irritably, "you have hardly enough
experience to judge in a case like this. If Mr. Barton really painted
that picture, which I deny, for Goddard painted it, he is a worse scamp
than I thought him. What business had he to be starving on a doorstep
or supping off dry bread and thin cocoa in a casual ward? My dear, we
old fellows know the world better than that. Robert Barton is a black
sheep, and not all your charity can wash him white."

Mr. Gaythorne was evidently in one of his obstinate moods, and Olivia
thought it prudent to say no more on this subject. Robert Barton would
be able to vindicate himself without difficulty. When Mr. Gaythorne
saw the sketch of Dot and the kitten he would be more lenient in his
judgment of the young artist.

During the remainder of her visit she chatted to him cheerfully about a
book he had lent her; but just before she took her leave she
unfortunately broached the subject of her new friend. At the mention
of her name Mr. Gaythorne started and changed color.

"Greta Williams," he observed, with a sharp, almost displeased
intonation in his voice. "That is not a common name. And she lives in
Brunswick Place?"

"Yes; they have been living there for some years, but before that they
were in the country." But to her surprise Mr. Gaythorne interrupted
her impatiently.

"Yes, yes, you said that before; go on with what you were telling me
about her father. He is a dipsomaniac, you say." And then Olivia
proceeded with her story.

"Is it not sad for the poor girl?" she observed when she had finished,
but Mr. Gaythorne made no reply. He was sitting in a stooping attitude
over the fire and seemed lost in thought.

His first remark took Olivia by surprise. "Have you ever mentioned my
name to Miss Williams?" he asked, with one of his keen searching looks.
"You are very frank, Mrs. Luttrell. I daresay you have dropped a word
or two about me."

But Olivia shook her head.

"I am quite sure that I have not done so. I have only seen Miss
Williams four or five times, and we have only talked about her own
troubles and--oh yes, a little about Mr. Barton. No, I am certain that
your name has never been mentioned."

"That is well," he returned, slowly. "Perhaps you will be good enough
for the future to leave me out of your conversations when you go to
Brunswick Place.

"The fact is, Mrs. Luttrell," he w