nt-heart I should run all risk and wave
my hat or kiss my hand to her, whoever she is,' he thought. But he did
not do either.

So he lingered about silently in the shades, and then thought of
strolling to his rooms at Markton. Just at leaving, as he passed under
the inhabited wing, whence one or two lights now blinked, he heard a
piano, and a voice singing 'The Mistletoe Bough.' The song had probably
been suggested to the romantic fancy of the singer by her visit to the
scene of his captivity.

XI.

The identity of the lady whom he had seen on the tower and afterwards
heard singing was established the next day.

'I have been thinking,' said Miss Power, on meeting him, 'that you may
require a studio on the premises. If so, the room I showed you yesterday
is at your service. If I employ Mr. Havill to compete with you I will
offer him a similar one.'

Somerset did not decline; and she added, 'In the same room you will find
the handkerchief that was left on the tower.'

'Ah, I saw that it was gone. Somebody brought it down?'

'I did,' she shyly remarked, looking up for a second under her shady
hat-brim.

'I am much obliged to you.'

'O no. I went up last night to see where the accident happened, and
there I found it. When you came up were you in search of it, or did you
want me?'

'Then she saw me,' he thought. 'I went for the handkerchief only; I was
not aware that you were there,' he answered simply. And he involuntarily
sighed.

It was very soft, but she might have heard him, for there was interest
in her voice as she continued, 'Did you see me before you went back?'

'I did not know it was you; I saw that some lady was there, and I would
not disturb her. I wondered all the evening if it were you.'

Paula hastened to explain: 'We understood that you would stay to dinner,
and as you did not come in we wondered where you were. That made me
think of your accident, and after dinner I went up to the place where it
happened.'

Somerset almost wished she had not explained so lucidly.

And now followed the piquant days to which his position as her
architect, or, at worst, as one of her two architects, naturally led.
His anticipations were for once surpassed by the reality. Perhaps
Somerset's inherent unfitness for a professional life under ordinary
circumstances was only proved by his great zest for it now. Had he been
in regular practice, with numerous other clients, instead of having
merely made a star