ng branches, and drenching rain. How people cursed and grumbled
on that rainy day we had last week; it made me sick to hear them. Now
I saw the beauty _under_ the ugliness of it all--the wonderful soft
greys and browns, the tiny glints of silver between the leaves, the
flashes of pearl and orpiment behind the shifting clouds. Do you know,
I even see beauty in this wooden leg of mine, great beauty, though
everybody else thinks it perfectly hideous! So that is why I hope I am
not wrong in imagining that perhaps I may, really, be in some sense an
artist."

For a moment St Aubyn did not speak. "The boy's a great artist," he
muttered to himself. His interest was now excited in good earnest; here
was no common mind. Of art Austin knew practically nothing, but the
artistic instinct was evidently tingling in every vein of him. St Aubyn
himself lived for art and literature, and was amazed to have come
across so curiously exceptional a personality. He drew the boy out a
little more, and then, in a moment of impulse, did a most unaccustomed
thing: he invited Austin to lunch with him on the following Thursday,
promising, in addition, that they should spend the afternoon together
looking over his conservatories and picture-gallery.

So great an honour, so undreamt-of a privilege, sent Austin's blood to
the roots of his hair. He flourished his leg more proudly than ever as
he stumped victoriously home and announced the great news to Aunt
Charlotte. That estimable lady was fingering some notepaper on her
writing-table as her excited nephew came bursting in upon her with his
face radiant.

"Auntie," he cried, "what do you think? You'll never guess. I'm going
to lunch with Mr St Aubyn on Thursday!"

Aunt Charlotte turned round, looking slightly dazed.

"Going to lunch with whom?" she asked.

"With Mr St Aubyn. You know--he lives at Moorcombe Court. I met him in
the woods and had a long talk with him, and now he's going to show me
all his pictures--_and_ his engravings--_and_ his wonderful orchids
and things. I'm to spend all the afternoon with him. Isn't it
splendid! I could never have hoped for such an opportunity. And he's
so awfully nice--so cultured and clever, you know--"

"Really!" said Aunt Charlotte, drawing herself up. "Well, you're
vastly honoured, Austin, I must say. Mr St Aubyn is chary of his
civilities. It is very kind of him to ask you, I'm sure, but I think
it's rather a liberty all the same."

"A liberty!" rep