walked half a dozen yards, when he stood face to face
with Franks.

"Ah! Here you are! I waited as long as I could--"

"I'll walk with you," said the artist, turning on his heels.

He had shaken hands but limply. His look avoided Warburton's. His
speech was flat, wearied.

"What's wrong, Franks?"

"As you've been in the studio, I daresay you know."

"I saw something that surprised me."

"_Did_ it surprise you?" asked Norbert, in a half-sullen undertone.

"What do you mean by that?" said Will with subdued resentment.

The rain had ceased; a high wind buffeted them as they went along the
almost deserted street. The necessity of clutching at his hat might
have explained Norbert's silence for a moment; but he strode on without
speaking.

"Of course, if you don't care to talk about it," said Will, stopping
short.

"I've been walking about all day," Franks replied; "and I've got hell
inside me; I'd rather not have met you to-night, that's the truth. But
I can't let you go without asking a plain question. _Did_ it surprise
you to see that portrait smashed?"

"Very much. What do you hint at?"

"I had a letter this morning from Rosamund, saying she couldn't marry
me, and that all must be over between us. Does _that_ surprise you?"

"Yes, it does. Such a possibility had never entered my mind."

Franks checked his step, just where the wind roared at an unprotected
corner.

"I've no choice but to believe you," he said, irritably. "And no doubt
I'm making a fool of myself. That's why I shot out of your way this
afternoon--I wanted to wait till I got calmer. Let's say good-night."

"You're tired out," said Warburton. "Don't go any farther this way, but
let me walk back with you--I won't go in. I can't leave you in this
state of mind. Of course I begin to see what you mean, and a wilder
idea never got into any man's head. Whatever the explanation of what
has happened, _I_ have nothing to do with it."

"You say so, and I believe you."

"Which means, that you don't. I shan't cut up rough; you're not
yourself, and I can make all allowances. Think over what I've said, and
come and have another talk. Not to-morrow; I have to go down to St.
Neots. But the day after, in the evening."

"Very well. Good-night."

This time they did not shake hands. Franks turned abruptly, with a wave
of the arm, and walked off unsteadily, like a man in liquor. Observing
this, Warburton said to himself that not improbably the artist ha