e are often most intensely
busy when we seem to be inactive. Our apparent idleness is the time
when valuable impressions are being imbibed to be produced later in
masterpieces for the benefit and admiration of the whole world. It is
utterly impossible for ordinary minds to grasp this, but it is true,
nevertheless."

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Bramshaw," and the girl made him a slight
graceful bow, "I really forgot that you are an artist. Appearances are
so deceptive, you know. I shall leave you now to carry on your
imbibing process. Perhaps Miss Sinclair will come with me, so that you
can have the imbibing time all to yourself. It would be a pity to
spoil your great masterpiece."

Lois was surprised at Miss Westcote's sarcasm, and, she fully expected
that Bramshaw would be angry. But he did not appear to mind in the
least. On the contrary, he smiled all the time she was speaking, as if
her words greatly amused him. Lois was glad of any excuse to leave
this man whose very presence depressed her in a remarkable manner.
When at last alone with Miss Westcote in an adjoining room, she sank
into a comfortable chair in a cosy corner. Her face was unusually
pale, and this her companion at once noted.

"You are tired," she sympathetically remarked, taking a seat by her
side. "You seem to be greatly upset."

"It is that man," Lois replied with considerable emphasis. "I never
had any one to affect me as he does. I cannot understand it. I am not
superstitious, and I have always prided myself upon my self-confidence,
but I cannot account for the feeling that has come over me to-night."

"Oh, that man would upset almost any one," Miss Westcote replied. "I
can not endure him."

"You do not evidently mind speaking plainly to him," Lois remarked.

"Certainly not. When I take a dislike to any person I generally say
just what I think, especially to such a cad as that."

"You know something about him, then?"

"All I want to. He has been trying to get my father to give him the
position of looking after an old man up the river. Mr. Randall has
been doing it, and Bramshaw wants to have him discharged so he can get
the job. Just think of that."

"Why should he wish to do that?" Lois asked in great surprise. "If he
is an artist why should he want to take care of old David?"

"So you know the old man?" Miss Westcote enquired.

"Oh, yes. And I know Mr. Randall, too. He is so good to old David."

"I know he would