o-day at three,' he said. 'Where?' I
asked. 'I'd like to go to see it.' 'Ashby-de-la-Zouch,' he answered. 'It
takes just three hours to run down.' Of course, I couldn't go down into
Leicestershire, and said so. He smiled 'another time.' We exchanged
cards again and his man called a cab for me. A chauffeur came up with a
prodigiously long-bonneted and low-seated machine, and Carville followed
me down stairs. He got in and waved his hand. With a spring the car
leaped from the kerb--no other word will describe the starting of that
car. I suppose it must have been at least a hundred horse power. In a
flash it was round the corner and gone. I climbed into my cab and made
my humble way to Liverpool Street, eventually reaching Wigborough, and
taking up the daily round and the common task.

"Now what do you think of that chap, Bill? I think you will disapprove,
because for all your wild-West adventures, San Francisco earthquakes,
etc., you are a steady-going old girl and object to such rampaging
persons as this Carville. But I have been thinking that after all, if
one is an artist, everything in the world has a certain 'value.' I don't
quite know how to explain what I really do feel, but anyhow men like
Carville appear to me as vivid bits of _colour_ in the composition of
life. Taken by themselves they are all out of drawing, and too loud, but
in the general arrangement they fit in perfectly. They inspire one's
imagination too, don't you think? I shall never forget that chap's black
rage, his blazing eyes, his hooked nose as he stood by the locked door.
I wonder what the people next door thought, just getting into bed!

"This is a letter, eh! Well, I must dry up, or I shall never get to bed.
If I see any more of my strange friend I'll let you know. Love to all at
Netley as usual. When are you coming home to dear old rainy England?

"Yours ever,
"CECIL.

"P. S.--If you could get me some of those jolly little paper fans you
sent me from Chinatown last Christmas, please do.

"CECIL."

CHAPTER IV

MISS FRAENKEL

I folded up the thin crackling sheets of paper and handed them to Bill,
who took them without comment, and for some time we sat rocking in the
twilight, absorbed in our own thoughts. It must not be imagined for a
moment that we, and