said, she found pretty plain sailing, but Chillington continued to
puzzle her. Again, she could not make up her mind whether to have a
happy or a tragic ending. In the interests of a tenderhearted public,
I pleaded for marriage bells.

"Yes, I think so," said Miss Liston, but she sighed, and I think she
had an idea or two for a heart-broken separation, followed by mutual,
lifelong, hopeless devotion.

The complexity of young Sir Gilbert did not, in Miss Liston's opinion,
appear less on further acquaintance; and indeed, I must admit that she
was not altogether wrong in considering him worthy of attention. As I
came to know him better, I discerned in him a smothered
self-appreciation, which came to light in response to the least tribute
of interest or admiration, but was yet far remote from the
aggressiveness of a commonplace vanity. In a moment of indiscretion I
had chaffed him--he was very good-natured--on the risks he ran at Miss
Liston's hands; he was not disgusted, but neither did he plume himself
or spread his feathers. He received the suggestion without surprise,
and without any attempt at disclaiming fitness for the purpose; but he
received it as a matter which entailed a responsibility on him. I
detected the conviction that, if the portrait was to be painted, it was
due to the world that it should be well painted; the subject must give
the artist full opportunities.

"What does she know about me?" he asked, in meditative tones.

"She's very quick; she'll soon pick up as much as she wants," I assured
him.

"She'll probably go all wrong," he said somberly; and of course I could
not tell him that it was of no consequence if she did. He would not
have believed me, and would have done precisely what he proceeded to
do, and that was to afford Miss Liston every chance of appraising his
character and plumbing the depths of his soul. I may say at once that I
did not regret this course of action; for the effect of it was to allow
me a chance of talking to Pamela Myles, and Pamela was exactly the sort
of girl to beguile the long, pleasant morning hours of a holiday in the
country. No one had told Pamela that she was going to be put in a
book, and I don't think it would have made any difference had she been
told. Pamela's attitude toward books was one of healthy scorn,
confidently based on admitted ignorance. So we never spoke of them,
and my cousin Dora condoled with me more than once on the way in which
Miss