pportunity for you."

"Really! and who is it, Mr. Carlyon? How good of you to think of me!"

"You remember telling me how much you admire Maddison's work."

"Why, yes! But he is not here, surely?" she exclaimed. "It cannot be
he!"

Mr. Carlyon smiled at her sudden enthusiasm. After all, this woman had
fire. She was too much of the artist to be without it.

"He is not here now, but he will be. I could not believe it myself at
first, for I know that he is a perfect recluse. But I have just asked
Lady Meltoun, and there is no doubt about it. It seems that they came
across him in a lonely part of Spain, and he saved the life of Lady
Meltoun's only child--a little boy. It is quite a romantic story. He
promised to come and seem them directly he returned to England, and he
is expected here to-day."

"I shall like to see him very much," she said thoughtfully. "Lately I
have been reading him a great deal. It is strange, but the tone of his
writings seems always to remind me of some one I once knew."

"There is no one of to-day who writes such prose," the artist answered.
"To me, his work seems to have reached that exquisite blending of matter
and form which is the essence of all true art."

"All his ideas of culture and the inner life are so simple and yet so
beautiful."

"And the language with which he clothes them is divine. His work appeals
everywhere to the purest and most artistic side of our emotional
natures; and it is always on the same level. It has only one
fault--there is so little of it."

"Do you know him?" she asked, deeply interested.

"I do. I met him in Pisa some years ago, and, although he is a
strangely reserved man, we became almost intimate. I am looking forward
to introducing him to you."

"I shall like it very much," she answered simply.

"Who is the fortunate individual to be so highly favored?" asked a
pleasant voice close to her side.

"You have returned, then, Sir Allan?" she said, looking up at him with a
smile. "Have you heard the news? Do you know who is expected?"

He shook his head.

"I have heard nothing," he said. "If I am to have a sensation, it will
be you who will impart it to me. Don't tell me all at once. I like
expectancy."

She laughed.

"What an epicure you are, Sir Allan! Come, prepare for something very
delightful, and I will tell you."

"Is it the prince?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"The Mikado in disguise? The Khedive incognito? Mr. Gladstone?"

She