, she is a
romanticist. There is an expression of romance, of unworldliness, in
those deep-set eyes of hers, that sinks into my heart of hearts.
'Romance' and 'womanliness,' and the two terms appear to me to be
convertible, are her distinguishing features. She is an artist, an
idealist, and, over and above all--a woman! Hang it! I'm in love with
her!"

More he could not evolve, for his meditations were abruptly cut short
by the entrance of a servant, who ushered him, straightway, into the
presence of John Martin.

The latter, though visibly affected by the news of his friend's death,
was a man of the world, and, consequently, came to business at once.
Much had to be discussed--arrangements for the funeral, the
examination of correspondence relative to the firm, and plans for the
immediate future.

"You don't know how my uncle's affairs stand, I suppose?" Shiel asked
somewhat nervously.

"Yes," John Martin said, "I do. May I ask if you have any private
means at all--or are you solely dependent on what you earn? By the
way, what is your calling?"

"I am an artist," Shiel said. "No, I've nothing beyond what my uncle
was good enough to allow me."

"An artist!" John Martin murmured, "how like Dick! Have you
entertained the idea of inheriting a fortune? Have you any reason to
suppose that your uncle was well off and had made you his heir!"

"I gathered so, sir, from the manner in which he lived and his
attitude towards me."

"Well! we won't talk it over now--leave it till after the funeral. Are
you bent on continuing painting? There is very little remuneration in
it, is there?"

"Not much," Shiel answered gloomily, "but I shouldn't care to give it
up--unless of course it is absolutely necessary for me to do so."

"Being an artist you wouldn't be much good in business."

"None!"

"At all events, you are candid. Well! I don't see any good in our
dallying here--I had best go back with you to Sydenham. I've got a
letter to write first, but I shan't be long."

He was long enough, however, for Shiel to have another chat with
Gladys. "Do you believe in dreams?" she asked him. "I had such a queer
one last night, about trees and flowers; and, oddly enough, my father
also dreamed of trees and flowers, and of the very same ones too. I am
going into Town to-day to consult a firm that has just set up, called
the Modern Sorcery Company Ltd. They profess to interpret dreams, and
I am anxious to see whether they can."

"