ot say no; it is too soon. I must go off
into the country quite by myself and think it over."

"But," urged Mr. Beresford, "you cannot think over a matter of this
kind by yourself. You'll continually be needing to refer to me for data,
don't you know, on which to base your conclusions. How can you tell
whether you're in love with me or not if-- (No, I am not shouting at
all; it's your guilty conscience; I'm whispering.) How can you tell
whether you're in love with me, I repeat, unless you keep me under
constant examination?"

"That seems sensible, though I dare say it is full of sophistry; but I
have made up my mind to go into the country and paint while Salemina and
Francesca are on the Continent. One cannot think in this whirl. A winter
season in Washington followed by a summer season in London,--one wants
a breath of fresh air before beginning another winter season somewhere
else. Be a little patient, please. I long for the calm that steals over
me when I am absorbed in my brushes and my oils."

"Work is all very well," said Mr. Beresford with determination, "but I
know your habits. You have a little way of taking your brush, and with
one savage sweep painting out a figure from your canvas. Now if I am
on the canvas of your heart,--I say 'if' tentatively and modestly,
as becomes me,--I've no intention of allowing you to paint me out;
therefore I wish to remain in the foreground, where I can say 'Strike,
but hear me,' if I discover any hostile tendencies in your eye. But I
am thankful for small favours (the 'no' you do not quite dare say, for
instance), and I'll talk it over with you to-morrow, if the British
gentry will give me an opportunity, and if you'll deign to give me a
moment alone in any other place than the Royal Academy."

"I was alone with you to-day for a whole hour at least."

"Yes, first at the London and Westminster Bank, second in Trafalgar
Square, and third on the top of a 'bus, none of them congenial spots to
a man in my humour. Penelope, you are not dull, but you don't seem to
understand that I am head over-"

"What are you two people quarrelling about?" cried Salemina. "Come,
Penelope, get your wrap. Mrs. Beresford, isn't she charming in her new
Liberty gown? If that New York wit had seen her, he couldn't have said,
'If that is Liberty, give me Death!' Yes, Francesca, you must wear
something over your shoulders. Whistle for two four-wheelers, Dawson,
please."

Part Second--In the cou