bbey will, of course, be on view, but I expect we
shall find the monuments banked up with sandbags for fear of raids.
Never mind, we'll do Poets' Corner at any rate. What would you like to
start with this morning?"

"May I choose? Then I plump for the Academy!"

So to the Academy they went, and it was a very gay, pink-cheeked,
bright-eyed version of Lorraine who walked up the flight of stairs at
Burlington House, and through the turnstile into the entrance hall where
the palms are. She had seen small exhibitions at the Arts Club in
Porthkeverne, but never a series of great rooms hung with large
pictures. Margaret was turning over the pages of the catalogue.

"Oh, do find out where 'Kilmeny' is, and let us go and see her first!"
begged Lorraine.

"She's in Room VII, No. 348."

It was difficult to tear Margaret away from the nearest pictures, but
Lorraine's impatience dragged her along to Room VII. "Kilmeny" was
really in a very good position, if not exactly on the line, only just
above it, and fortunately the pictures on either side were in low tone,
and did not spoil the effect of colour.

"A field of poppies or a Venetian carnival next door would have utterly
killed my sunset and thistledown!" rejoiced Margaret. "I ought to be
very grateful to the hanging committee. It doesn't look so bad as I
expected."

"Bad! It's the most beautiful picture in the whole room."

"We must hunt up our other friends," said Margaret, turning over the
pages of the catalogue. "Where are Mr. Castleton's, I wonder? Oh,
there's one in the next room--No. 407. Let's go and look at it."

The picture in question was the portrait of Madame Bertier, a clever
study in an impressionist style, showing the bright eyes and eager
features of that volatile lady under cover of a large black hat and
veil. It was perhaps one of the best pictures that Mr. Castleton had
ever painted, and it was attracting quite a small crowd. Margaret and
Lorraine came up, and joined the outer circle of admirers. In front of
them stood two gentlemen and a lady--foreigners. They spoke softly and
rapidly together in French. Lorraine, whose knowledge of that language
was not far beyond the ordinary schoolgirl standard, could not
understand all they were saying, but she caught a word here and there.
The lady was admiring the skill of the painting, and voting it worthy of
the Salon in Paris; one of the gentlemen admired the beauty of the
model, the other, with a pleased s