the arbour this morning, with
a pretty, cool white dress on, reading poetry or some light romance, or
working at my embroidery till my lover came, instead of being found
covered with paint and with the footman's baize apron on.'

The two ladies moved closer to the window and watched the young man
crossing the lawn. He was well-built and not many inches above Jane's
own height; and perhaps when one has said that he was fair with that
Saxon fairness which suggests an almost immaculate cleanliness, and
looked like a gentleman, there is not much more to be stated about his
external appearance.

Jane rose from her recumbent position on the turf and shook off some
blades of short grass from her apron, and waved a brush filled with
green paint in the air.

'Don't touch it, Peter!' she cried. 'Isn't it lovely?'

'Good morning, Jane,' said Peter, lifting his cap. Whatever else might
be said of them, it would have to be admitted that there was a
fundamental sense of courtesy and good-breeding underlying the
regrettably frank manner of these young people. 'If you wave your
brush about in that triumphant way you 'll splash me with green paint.'

'I have sacrificed two dresses already,' answered Jane; 'but real Art
is worth that!'

'The hutch looks ripping,' said Peter; 'but I should feel safer if you
would put down that brush.'

'I couldn't resist painting the inside,' said Jane, surveying her work
ecstatically. 'Do you think the rabbits will lick on the paint and be
sick, Peter?'

'Probably,' said Peter.

'Of course we don't know,' said Jane gravely, 'that it isn't their
favourite food. Rabbits may flourish on green paint just as we
flourish on roast mutton.'

'It would be beastly to have a green inside!' said Peter.

'I wonder what they are talking about,' said Miss Abingdon, glancing
with an apprehensive eye from the drawing-room window. 'Perhaps, after
all, they are making love to each other; and if they are, I certainly
ought to go out and sit with them.'

Miss Abingdon had antiquated notions of a chaperon's duties.

'I suppose there would be no objection to the match if they do care for
each other,' said Mrs. Wrottesley, in a manner that was often called
brusque and had served to make her unpopular. 'Jane is rich----'

'Jane has money,' corrected Miss Abingdon, who saw a well-defined
difference between the two statements. 'She is a ward in Chancery, you
know, and she will not come of age until she i