e. She was, as we already know, a very
good as well as a happy woman. But a woman as pretty as was Agnes Barlow
meets with frequent pleasant occasions of withstanding temptation, of
which those about her, especially her dear parents and her kind husband,
are often curiously unknowing. And the tall, well-set-up masculine
figure now hurrying toward her with such eager steps played a
considerable part in Agnes's life, if only as constantly providing her
with occasions of acquiring merit.

Agnes knew very well--even the least imaginative woman is always acutely
conscious of such a fact--that, had she not been a prudent and a
ladylike as well as (of course) a very good woman, this clever,
agreeable, interesting young man would have made love to her. As it was,
he (of course) did nothing of the kind. He did not even try to flirt
with her, as our innocent Agnes understood that much-tried verb; and she
regarded their friendship as a pleasant interlude in her placid,
well-regulated existence, and as a most excellent influence on his more
agitated life.

Mr. Ferrier lifted his hat. He smiled down into Agnes's blue eyes. What
very charming, nay, what beautiful eyes they were! Deeply, exquisitely
blue, but unshadowed, as innocent of guile, as are a child's eyes.

"Somehow, I had a kind of feeling that you would be coming by just now,"
he said in a rather hesitating voice; "so I left my work and came out on
chance."

Now, Agnes was very much interested in Mr. Ferrier's work. Mr. Ferrier
was not only a writer--the only writer she had ever known; he was also a
poet. She had been pleasantly thrilled the day he had given her a slim
little book, on each page of which was a poem. This gift had been made
when they had known each other only two months, and he had inscribed it:
"From G. G. F. to A. M. B."

Mr. Ferrier had a charming studio flat in Chelsea, that odd, remote
place where London artists live, far from the pleasant London of the
shops and theatres which was all Agnes knew of the great City near which
she dwelt. But he always spent the summer in the country, and his summer
lasted from the 1st of May till the 1st of October. He had already
spent two holidays at Summerfield, and had been a great deal at The
Haven.

When with Mr. Ferrier, and they were much together during the long
week-days when Summerfield is an Adamless Eden, Agnes Barlow made a
point of often speaking of dear Frank and of Frank's love for her,--not,
of co