tter we are just receiving. He certainly could not
help observing the contrasting emotions with which he welcomed these two
letters. Alice's, at his first glimpse of it, had given him a deepened
sense of the irrevocable. Yet there went with this a kind, affectionate
thought in which was a world of appreciation. But he knew pretty nearly
what the letter would contain; it could well be read at leisure.

He tore open Lady Betty's at once, and read it feverishly as he stood
there in the hall. "MY DEAR FRIEND," it ran--"My father was so
disappointed when he got home at hearing that you had been, and had
already flown. He suggests that you should stay to-morrow and join us at
luncheon, and he asks me to bend your mind well in advance to the
contemplation of such an ordeal--as he seriously considers it. The
present cook doesn't meet with his approval, but be reassured! It was
only a new sauce sent up one day with pride; but that unfortunate sauce
has since flavoured everything. My father has naturally imagination; at
his age he has prejudices. Could even a Vatel face the combination?

"And now that I have performed my filial duty, I will add a few lines
for my own pleasure. I humbly proffer a request. An idea has come to me
that seems most charming--before we part again! Since you are working
here, won't you make a small sketch of me?--a tiny, typical thing, hit
off all in a dash--and give it to me as a souvenir of your work? Nothing
that would steal much of your time. I understand that every moment is
precious just now, with the exhibitions so near, and I wish you not to
do it if you are very pressed. In return I shall have a souvenir to give
you--a strange, strange thought of mine. Please feel very curious about
what it is to be, for you are certainly not going to be told till the
time comes. _Au revoir._ Your friend, BETTY."

Wyndham mounted the stairs again slowly, and in the studio he re-read
these precious lines, lingering on each individual word, and setting a
marvellous price on it. He was happy yet terrified at this flash from
fairyland into his strenuous existence.

But her words, "before we part again," rang in his mind, lurid,
persistent. Yes, Lady Betty would vanish out of his life soon enough;
even though her letter confirmed the respite which she had indeed seemed
to grant that morning, but which nevertheless--anticipating regret--he
had scarcely ventured to dream of! There could clearly be no question as
to