ost of
what had taken place during his absence--of Roger's cold, of the
painting-lessons, of Tom's reminiscences of Christy's Minstrels, and
most of all of Hodder's tribulation.

"And what sort of an artist are you turning out?" inquired he.

"Oh, all right. But I say, Armstrong, I want you to make it right about
Hodder before anything. Will you come and see him?"

"My dear fellow, Hodder is as safe in his cottage as you are here.
Leave that to your responsible guardian. My present intention is to
work on the tender mercies of Raffles for some dinner. I have travelled
right through from Paris since this morning."

"Your friend died?" inquired Roger.

"Yes. I was in time to be of some little help, I think, but he was past
recovery. How is Miss Oliphant?"

"All right; but in an awful state about old Hodder. I'm afraid to meet
her myself. She will be relieved to have you back."

"Will she really?" said the tutor, laughing. "I hardly flatter myself
her comfort depends on which particular hemisphere I happen to be in."

Miss Oliphant, as it happened, had taken to a spell of hard work in her
studio, and was not visible all the evening. She was, in fact, making a
copy of the portrait Roger had lent her, and the work interested her
greatly.

This bold, fearless, almost insolent, boy's face fascinated her. She
seemed to be able to interpret the defiance that flashed in his eye, and
to solve the problem which gathered on his half-mocking lips. She was
half afraid, half enamoured of this old piece of canvas.

"Why are not you here now?" she muttered as she gazed at it. "You don't
look like the sort of boy to die. Should we be friends or enemies?
Heigho! I shouldn't care much which, if only you were here. Roger
minor is a dear boy; but--you are--"

She didn't say what he was, but worked late into the night with her
copy.

At bedtime Jill came in radiant.

"He's come back, Rosalind. Dear Mr Armstrong's come back."

"Oh!" said Rosalind shortly.

"Aren't you glad? Oh, I am!"

"Why should I be glad? I don't care two straws for all the Mr
Armstrongs in the world. Go to bed, Jill, and don't be a goose."

Jill obeyed, a little discomfited, and was sound asleep long before the
artist joined her. And long before she woke from her dreams next
morning Rosalind was astir and abroad. She had resolved to pay an early
call on old Hodder, if not to relieve his mind about the eviction, at
least to take hi