it would be a pleasure to see
flourishing.--How much longer would old Strangwyn cumber the world?

With more of elasticity than usual in his rapid stride, Will passed out
of Fulham Road into King's Road, and down to the river at Cheyne Walk,
whence his eye perceived a sitting figure on the opposite bank. He
crossed Albert Bridge; he stepped down into the Park; he drew near to
the young lady in grey trimmed with black, who was at work upon a
drawing. Not until he spoke did she seem aware of his arrival; then
with her brightest smile of welcome, she held out a pretty hand, and in
her melodious voice thanked him for so kindly taking the trouble to
come.

"Don't look at this," she added. "It's too difficult--I can't get it
right--"

What his glance discovered on the block did not strengthen Will's
confidence in Rosamund's claim to be a serious artist. He had always
taken for granted that her work was amateurish, and that she had little
chance of living by it. On the whole, he felt glad to be confirmed in
this view; Rosamund as an incompetent was more interesting to him than
if she had given proof of great ability.

"I mustn't be too ambitious," she was saying. "The river suggests
dangerous comparisons. I want to find little corners of the town such
as no one ever thought of painting--"

"Unless it was Norbert Franks," said Will genially, leaning on his
stick with both hands, and looking over her head.

"Yes, I had almost forgotten," she answered with a thoughtful smile.
"In those days he did some very good things."

".Some remarkably good things. Of course you know the story of how he
and I first met?"

"Oh, yes. Early morning--a quiet little street--I remember. Where was
that?"

"Over yonder." Will nodded southward. "I hope he'll take that up again
some day."

"Oh, but let me do it first," exclaimed Rosamund, laughing. "You
mustn't rob me of my chance, Mr. Warburton? Norbert Franks is
successful and rich, or going to be; I am a poor struggler. Of course,
in painting London, it's atmosphere one has to try for above all. Our
sky gives value, now and then, to forms which in themselves are utterly
uninteresting."

"Exactly what Franks used to say to me. There was a thing I wanted him
to try--but then came the revolution. It was the long London street,
after a hot, fine day, just when the lamps have been lit. Have you
noticed how golden the lights are? I remember standing for a long time
at the end of Harley St