ead-and-shoulder study of her husband.

Now time no longer stood still. Michael was forgotten. And, while her
brush sped hither and thither, she crooned low and clear, the song that
had proved the open sesame to her cave of enchantment.

And, in the meantime, Michael--the forgotten--was manipulating a new
and delicate complication in a fashion peculiarly his own.

On entering Mrs Mayhew's drawing-room, he had found, not his "moonlight
maiden," as it pleased him to call her, but the Button Quail herself,
who greeted him with a rather embarrassing effusion of thanks.

"And the best point about it is, that it's really _like_ Elsie," she
concluded, with an air of paying an exceptional tribute to his skill.
"Portraits so seldom _are_ like people. Haven't you noticed it?
That's why I generally prefer photographs. But your picture is
different. There are only two things about it that don't _quite_
please me." She paused, eyeing the canvas with her head on one side;
and Maurice, who was irresistibly reminded of a bird contemplating a
worm, wondered idly what was coming in the way of criticism. "I wish
you had allowed her to wear something _smarter_ than that limp white
silk; and I think she looks much too unpractical, day-dreaming on a
verandah railing at that hour of the morning! But then, Elsie _is_
rather unpractical; or would be," she added quickly, "if I didn't
insist on her helping me with the house. That's where moat
Anglo-Indian mothers make such a mistake. But _I_ always say it is a
mother's duty to have _some_ consideration for her girl's future
husband!"

And she smiled confidentially upon the aspirant at her side. But
Maurice, absorbed in critical appraisement of his own skill in
rendering the luminous quality of Elsie's eyes, missed the smile;
missed also most of the interesting disquisition on her education.

"Yes, yes,--no doubt," he agreed with vague politeness, and Mrs Mayhew
opened her round eyes.

But the direction of his gaze was excuse enough for any breach of
manners; and she returned to the charge undismayed, approaching her
subject this time from a less prosaic point of view.

"Really, Mr Maurice, I never knew till now that I _had_ such a pretty
daughter! The whole effect is so charming, that I begin to think you
must have flattered her!" she remarked archly; and Maurice fell
headlong into the trap.

"Flattered her? _Mon Dieu_, no! Nature has taken care to make that
impossible.