f lovers.'

'Margaret's a wise girl,' smiled Susie. 'She knows that when a man sends
flowers it is a sign that he has admired more women than one.'

'I don't suppose that these were sent particularly to me.'

Arthur Burdon sat down and observed with pleasure the cheerful fire. The
drawn curtains and the lamps gave the place a nice cosiness, and there
was the peculiar air of romance which is always in a studio. There is a
sense of freedom about it that disposes the mind to diverting
speculations. In such an atmosphere it is possible to be serious without
pompousness and flippant without inanity.

In the few days of their acquaintance Arthur and Susie had arrived at
terms of pleasant familiarity. Susie, from her superior standpoint of an
unmarried woman no longer young, used him with the good-natured banter
which she affected. To her, he was a foolish young thing in love, and she
marvelled that even the cleverest man in that condition could behave
like a perfect idiot. But Margaret knew that, if her friend chaffed him,
it was because she completely approved of him. As their intimacy
increased, Susie learnt to appreciate his solid character. She admired
his capacity in dealing with matters that were in his province, and the
simplicity with which he left alone those of which he was ignorant. There
was no pose in him. She was touched also by an ingenuous candour which
gave a persuasive charm to his abruptness. And, though she set a plain
woman's value on good looks, his appearance, rough hewn like a statue in
porphyry, pleased her singularly. It was an index of his character. The
look of him gave you the whole man, strong yet gentle, honest and simple,
neither very imaginative nor very brilliant, but immensely reliable and
trustworthy to the bottom of his soul. He was seated now with Margaret's
terrier on his knees, stroking its ears, and Susie, looking at him,
wondered with a little pang why no man like that had even cared for her.
It was evident that he would make a perfect companion, and his love, once
won, was of the sort that did not alter.

Dr Porhoet came in and sat down with the modest quietness which was one
of his charms. He was not a great talker and loved most to listen in
silence to the chatter of young people. The dog jumped down from Arthur's
knee, went up to the doctor, and rubbed itself in friendly fashion
against his legs. They began to talk in the soft light and had forgotten
almost that another guest