poken. As her face came into
view, Paul saw that it was blanched with fear.

"Please forgive me," he said with concern; "but I did not mean to
frighten you."

"Oh," moaned Flamby, "but you did. I thought----" She rose to her knees
and then to her feet, the quick colour returning in a hot blush.

"What did you think?" asked Paul gently.

"I thought you were Sir Jacques."

She uttered the words impulsively and seemed to regret them as soon as
spoken, standing before Paul with shyly lowered eyes. The attitude
surprised him. From what he had seen and heard of Flamby he had not
anticipated diffidence, and he regarded her silently for a moment,
smiling in his charming way. She had evidently made some attempt this
morning to arrange her rebellious hair, for it had been parted and
brushed over to one side so that the rippling waves gleamed like minted
copper where the sun kissed them. Flamby had remarkable hair, nut-brown
in its shadows, and in the light glowing redly like embers or a newly
extinguished torch.

Her face was a perfect oval, and she had the most beautifully chiselled
straight little nose imaginable. Her face and as much of her neck as was
exposed by a white jumper were tanned to gipsy hue; so that when, shyly
raising her eyes, she responded to Paul's smile, the whiteness of her
teeth was extraordinary. A harsh critic might have said that her mouth
was too large; but no man of flesh and blood would have quarrelled with
such lips as Flamby's. She was below medium height, but shaped like a
sylph and had the airy grace of one. As Paul stood regarding her he
found wonder to be growing in his mind, for such wild roses as Flamby
are rare enough in the countryside, as every artist knows.

"Why," he asked, "should you be so afraid of Sir Jacques?"

"He's dead!" replied Flamby, an elfin light of mischief kindling in her
eyes; yet she was by no means at her ease.

"And what made you mistake me for him?"

"Your voice."

"Ah," said Paul, to whom others had remarked on this resemblance; "but
you had no cause to fear him?--alive, I mean."

"No," replied Flamby, stooping to pick up her sketching materials.

Her monosyllabic reply was not satisfactory; but recognising that if she
did not wish to talk about the late Sir Jacques he must merely defeat
his own purpose by endeavouring to make her do so, he abandoned the
topic.

"My name is Paul Mario," he said, "and I came to see you this morning."

Flamby stood up,