rries, and I have
not yet learned the art of taking life quietly."

"You are overdone, you want a rest," said Donovan, whose keen and
practiced observation had at once noticed her delicate physique and
peculiar temperament. "You are a poet, you see, and as a wise man once
remarked: 'The poetic temperament is one of singular irritability of
nerve.'"

Erica laughed.

"I am no poet!"

"Not a writer of verses, but a poet in the sense of a maker, an artist.
As a reader of the 'Daily Review,' you must allow me to judge. Brian
once showed me one of your articles, and I always recognize them now by
the style."

"I don't deserve the name of artist one bit," said Erica, coloring. "I
would give all I have to destroy my article of today. You have not seen
that, or you would not have given me such a name.

"Yes, I have seen it; I read it this morning at breakfast, and made
up my mind that you wrote it on Friday evening, after Lady Caroline's
dinner. I can understand that you hate the thing now. One gets a sharp
lesson every now and then, and it lasts one a life time."

Erica signed.. He resumed.

"Well! Are you coming to Oakdene with me?"

"Did you mean now at once today?"

"If you will."

"Oh, I should so like to!" she cried. "But will Mrs. Farrant be
expecting me?"

"She will be hoping for you, and that is better."

Erica was noted for the speed with which she could pack a portmanteau,
and it could not have been more than ten minutes before she was ready.
Mrs. Fane-Smith wished her goodbye with a sort of affectionate relief;
then Donovan helped her into the pony carriage, and drove briskly off
through the Greyshot streets.

"That is the place where I first heard your father," he said, indicating
with his whip the town Hall. "It must be sixteen years ago; I was quite
a young fellow."

"Sixteen years! Did you hear him so long ago as that?" said Erica,
thoughtfully. "Why, that must have been about the time of the great
Stockborough trial."

"It was; I remember reference being made to it, and how it stirred me
up to think of Mr. Raeburn's gallant defense of freedom, and all that it
was costing him. How well I remember, too, riding home that night along
this very road, with the thoughts of the good of the race, the love of
humanity, touched into life for the first time. When a selfish cynic
first catches a glimpse of an honest man toiling for what he believes
the good of humanity, it is a wonderful moment for him