s
Machiavellian in its simplicity, "that the loss of that umbrella would
have been a serious matter to me. It might have entailed another and
more serious loss--the loss of my liberty."

The young man looked up with a puzzled and slightly doubtful expression.
"I beg your pardon," he said. "The loss of----"

"The loss of my liberty," said the Englishman, in a louder and rather
triumphant tone of voice. "The fact is, my dear sir, that I have a very
tender and careful wife, and an equally tender and careful daughter and
niece, who have so little confidence in my power of caring for my own
safety that they have at various times threatened to accompany me in all
my sketching expeditions. Now, if I came home to them and confessed that
I had been attacked by a troop of savage Italian children, who tossed my
umbrella into the river, do you think I should ever be allowed to
venture out alone again?"

The young man smiled, with a look of comprehension.

"Can I be of any further use to you?" he said. "Can I walk back to the
town with you, or carry any of your things?"

"You can be of very great use to me, indeed," said the gentleman,
opening his sketch-book in a great hurry, and then producing a card from
some concealed pocket in his velvet coat. "I'm an artist--allow me to
introduce myself--my name is Heron; you would be of the very greatest
use to me if you would allow me to--to make a sketch of your head for a
picture that I am doing just now. It is the very thing--if you will
excuse the liberty that I am taking----"

He had his pencil ready, but he faltered a little as he saw the sudden
change which came over his new acquaintance's face at the sound of his
proposition. The young man flushed to his temples, and then turned
suddenly pale. He did not speak, but Mr. Heron inferred offence from his
silence, and became exceedingly profuse in his apologies.

"It is of no consequence," said the stranger, breaking in upon Mr.
Heron's incoherent sentences with some abruptness. "I was merely
surprised for the moment; and, after all--I think I must ask you to
excuse me; I have a great dislike--a sort of nervous dislike--to sitting
for a portrait. I would rather that you did not sketch me, if you
please."

"Oh, certainly, certainly; I am only sorry that I mentioned it," said
Mr. Heron, more formally than usual. He was a little vexed at his own
precipitation, and also by the way in which his request had been
received. For a few mo