e light, and had been
studying the canvas for some minutes before Ted came in. The boy stifled
an angry exclamation.

"Ted," said Hardy, "what do you want for this picture?"

"I don't want anything for it."

"Nonsense! Every good picture has its price."

"This one hasn't, anyway."

"Look here, and don't be a young fool. This is the best thing you've
done in your life or ever will do. I'm in rather low water at present,
but wait till I've heard from my British Columbian agent, or, better
still, wait till the Pioneer-book comes out, and I'll give you a hundred
for it, honour bright, if you'll let me have it at once."

"I can't let you have it at once, and I won't let you have it at all."

"The deuce you won't! Come, fix your own price."

"I'm not a swindling dealer, and I'm not a liar, though you mightn't
think it. I told you I wasn't going to let you have it at any price."

"H'm. Do you mind telling me one thing? Are you going to sell it to any
one else?"

"I'm not going to sell it to any one. I'm going to keep it myself."

They looked at each other with steady eyes, each understanding and each
defying the other's thought. Hardy's face was the first to soften. He
put his hand on Ted's shoulders. "All right, old boy. We've hit each
other hard this time. The least we can do is to hold our tongues about
it." And he left him.

Hardy spoke with the magnanimity of imperfect comprehension. He had been
defeated in his purpose of buying Audrey's portrait; but however great
his discomfiture, he, being the successful lover, could afford a little
pity for Ted as the victim of a hopeless passion. To Ted, on the other
hand, the revelation of Hardy's feelings threw light on Audrey's
conduct. It accounted for everything that was most inexplicable in it.
It must have been the news of Hardy's return that made her break off her
engagement so suddenly. His instinct told him that she had probably
given her word to her cousin before he left England; jealousy suggested
that she had cared for him all the time. He tried to reason it out, but
stopped short of the obvious conclusion that, if these things were
altogether as he supposed, her engagement to himself must have been
merely an amusement hit upon by Audrey to fill up a dull interval. He
preferred to regard it as a mystery. And now all reasoning gave way
before the desire to see her again, and know the truth from herself once
for all.

To Audrey, as the fountain of truth, he