king knowledge. As she sat there, with her steadfast eyes fixed upon
the smooth blue line where sea and sky met, who could tell what thoughts
were passing in her mind? Not I, not Mabane, nor any of us into whose
care she had come. Only I knew that she saw new things, that the rush of
a more complex and stronger life was already troubling her, the sweet
pangs of its birth were already tugging at her heartstrings. My pencil
rested idly in my fingers, my eyes, like hers, sought that distant line,
beyond which lies ever the world of one's own creation. What did she see
there, I wondered? Never again should I be able to ask with the full
certainty of knowing all that was in her mind. The time had come for
delicate reserves, the time when the child of yesterday, with the first
faint notes of a new and wonderful song stealing into her heart, must
fence her new modesty around with many sweet elusions and barriers,
fairy creations to be swept aside later on in one glad moment--by the
one chosen person. There was a coldness in my heart when I realized that
the time had come even for the child who had tripped so lightly into our
lives so short a time ago, to pass away from us into that other and more
complex world. It was the decree of sex, nature's immutable law,
sundering playfellows, severing friendships, driving its unwilling
victims into opposite corners of the world, with all the pitilessness of
natural law. Nevertheless, the thought of these things as I looked at
Isobel made me sad. She was young indeed for these days to come, for the
shadows to steal into her eyes, and the song of trouble to grow in her
heart.

"Tell me," I asked softly, "what you see beyond that blue line."

"I can tell you more easily," she said, glancing down with a faint smile
at my empty pages, "what I see by my side--a very lazy man. And," she
continued, crumpling a little ball of heather in her fingers and
throwing it with unerring aim at Allan, "another one over there!"

"My picture," Allan protested, "is finished."

"Nonsense!" she exclaimed, preparing to rise, but he waved her back.

"In my mind," he added. "Don't misunderstand me. The casual and ignorant
observer glancing just now at my canvas might come to the same
conclusion as you--a conclusion, by-the-bye, entirely erroneous. I will
admit that my canvas is unspoilt. Nevertheless, my picture is painted."

She looked across at him reproachfully.

"Allan, how dare you!" she exclaimed. "On