their
camp-stools, unfolded their sketching-easels, and were soon busy with
pencil or charcoal, blocking in the main outlines of their prospective
pictures.

Lesbia had secured a particularly pretty little corner, with a peep
through the archway into the street, and a cluster of pots of
geraniums--a fine splash of colour--which had been placed upon one of
the benches. She drew it rapidly (she was improving so much in accurate
drawing) and had begun to lay on her sky while the others were still in
the process of rubbing out wrong lines. She mixed cerulean blue and
flake white on her palette, and worked in yellow ochre and rose madder
on her canvas, to give warmth and sunshine to the effect. She was gazing
at her subject, weighing its colour-values and scheme of light and
shade, when somebody came out of one of the offices which occupied the
ground floor of the Pilgrims' Inn Chambers, a somebody who walked
briskly towards the archway, threw a passing glance at the
sketching-easel, halted, and looked back in evident hesitation. For a
moment he seemed an utter stranger to Lesbia, then there surged into her
mind the remembrance of the lane at Dolmadoc and the visitor who had
received the "rag" intended for Derrick. The recognition appeared to be
mutual. Mr. Ford lifted his hat and came back to speak to her.

"Surely it's Miss Ferrars? Well, this is really a coincidence! I've been
thinking about you all day, and was going to ring up the Websters to ask
for your address. I've a matter of business to settle with you. Your
teacher won't mind my talking to you for a few minutes? That's all
right! Well, perhaps you remember my mentioning that years ago your
father and I were once in partnership? We had invented rather a good
thing and had meant to patent it, but when he died it was put on the
shelf. Lately I looked it up and patented it myself. It was really
speculation on my part. Well, this morning fortune smiled, and I had
quite a decent offer for it from a big engineering firm. I won't sell it
without your signature to represent your father's share in the
invention. Of course you don't understand these business affairs. Can I
see your guardian any time?"

"I don't think I have a 'guardian', but you could talk to Mr. Patterson.
I live with the Pattersons, 28 Park Road, Morton Common."

Mr. Ford wrote down the name and address in his notebook.

"I'll call round this evening," he volunteered. "I want to get the
matter fixe