looked at him, then,
intoxicated by the soft spring evening, rolled lithely upon the new
grass and lay there twitching her snowy tail and challenging the stars
out of eyes that matched their brilliance.

Dulcie got up and walked slowly across the grass to where Barres
stood:

"May I come to see you this evening?" she asked, diffidently, and with
a swift, sidelong glance toward her father.

"Ah, then, don't be worritin' him!" grumbled Soane. "Hasn't Misther
Barres enough to do, what with all thim idees he has slitherin' in his
head, an' all the books an' learnin' an' picters he has to think
of--whithout the likes of you at his heels every blessed minute, day
an' night!----"

"But he always lets me--" she remonstrated.

"G'wan, now, and lave the poor gentleman be! Quit your futtherin' an'
muttherin'. G'wan in the house, ye little scut, an' see what there is
f'r ye to do!----"

"What's the matter with you, Soane?" interrupted Barres good-humouredly.
"Of course she can come up if she wants to. Do you feel like paying me
a visit, Dulcie, before you go to bed?"

"Yes," she nodded diffidently.

"Well, come ahead then, Sweetness! And whenever you want to come you
say so. Your father knows well enough I like to have you."

He smiled at Dulcie; the child's shy preference for his society always
had amused him. Besides, she was always docile and obedient; and she
was very sensitive, too, never outwearing her welcome in his studio,
and always leaving without a murmur when, looking up from book or
drawing he would exclaim cheerfully: "Now, Sweetness! Time's up! Bed
for yours, little lady!"

It had been a very gradual acquaintance between them--more than two
years in developing. From his first pleasant nod to her when he first
came to live in Dragon Court, it had progressed for a few months,
conservatively on her part, and on his with a detached but kindly
interest born of easy sympathy for youth and loneliness.

But he had no idea of the passionate response he was stirring in the
motherless, neglected child--of what hunger he was carelessly
stimulating, what latent qualities and dormant characteristics he was
arousing.

Her appearance, one evening, in her night-dress at his studio doorway,
accompanied by her three cats, began to enlighten him in regard to her
mental starvation. Tremulous, almost at the point of tears, she had
asked for a book and permission to remain for a few moments in the
studio. He had rung for S