felt a curious and melancholy presentiment. He
did not know himself that this suffering was jealousy.

What nonsense his mother talked!...

Harry!... Harry was the best fellow in the world--almost like a brother,
his greatest friend, though not exactly an intimate friend. Romer was
too shy to be intimate with any one. Harry was lively, amusing, a
brilliant talker; kind, good-natured, a capital chap. He appreciated
Valentia, or he could not have painted that portrait. Romer was very
grateful for the portrait; yet it sometimes hurt him to think Harry had
painted it. It showed how well Harry understood Valentia.

This thought Romer always suppressed. He thought it was mean, and he
could not be mean.

He looked out of the window. It was raining--a chilly spring shower--but
there was a stir in the air, a rattle in the town, a sense of something
that was going to happen; summer was not far off, and in the summer, at
the end of the season, they would go down to the Green Gate, the lovely
country house with the dream garden as Valentia called it, all built,
planted, and arranged on purpose for her. Valentia was more herself at
the Green Gate than anywhere else. Leisure suited her, and roses.

Every year Romer silently counted the weeks until they went back there.
It was where he was happiest. Of course, they were not alone. Dear
little Daphne was always with them, dear little thing (she was nearly
six feet high)--and other people, very often, and Harry--always Harry.
Perhaps Daphne would marry soon, but what about Harry?

Romer felt rather wearied when he remembered Valentia had said Harry
was made to be a bachelor. Was he tired of Harry? Not a bit! Harry was a
capital chap; besides, he didn't see so very much of him in London.

Heaps of people admired Valentia, and that did not annoy Romer at all
(though it did not please him particularly), but he knew, again
subconsciously, that Valentia cared less than nothing for any admirers,
but she certainly was awfully fond of Harry. And no wonder! Harry was
the best fellow in the world--lively, amusing, quite a brilliant talker;
kind, good natured, and he appreciated Valentia, or he could not have
painted that portrait....

Round and round the same thoughts passed through his brain.

It was raining--a chilly spring shower. Had Valentia got her wrap with
her?

He got up, went into the hall, and saw her fur cloak hanging on a peg.

She evidently didn't care for it. She was ti