, isn't she?" she said.

"That must be nice. She was so kind to me that last day in London. Tante
is very fond of her; very, very fond. I hardly think there is anyone of
all her friends she has more feeling for. Here is Victor, come to greet
you. You remember Victor, and how he nearly missed the train."

The great, benignant dog came down the path to them and as they walked
Karen laid her hand upon his head, telling Gregory that Sir Alliston had
given him to Tante when he was quite a tiny puppy. "You saw Sir
Alliston, that sad, gentle poet? There is another person that Tante
loves." It was with a slight stir of discomfort that Gregory realised
more fully from these assessments how final for Karen was the question
of Tante's likes and dislikes.

They were on the verandah when she paused. "But I think, though the
music-room is closed, that you must see the portrait."

"The portrait? Of you?" Actually, and sincerely, he was off the track.

"Of me? Oh no," said Karen, laughing a little. "Why should it be of me?
Of my guardian, of course. Perhaps you know it. It is by Sargent and was
in the Royal Academy some years ago."

"I must have missed it. Am I to see it now?"

"Yes. I will ask Mrs. Talcott for the key and we will draw all the
blinds and you shall see it." They walked back to the garden in search
of Mrs. Talcott.

"Do you like it?" Gregory asked.

Karen reflected for a moment and then said; "He understands her better
than Mr. Drew does, or, at all events, does not try to make up for what
he does not understand by elaborations. But there are blanks!--oh
blanks!--However, it is a very magnificent picture and you shall see.
Mrs. Talcott, may I have the key of the music-room? I want to show the
Sargent to Mr. Jardine."

They had come to the old woman again, and again she slowly righted
herself from her stooping posture. "It's in my room, I'll come and get
it," said Mrs. Talcott, and on Karen's protesting against this, she
observed that it was about tea-time, anyway. She preceded them to the
house.

"But I do beg," Karen stopped her in the hall. "Let me get it. You shall
tell me where it is."

Mrs. Talcott yielded. "In my left top drawer on the right hand side
under the pile of handkerchiefs," she recited. "Thanks, Karen."

While Karen was gone, Mrs. Talcott in the hall stood in front of Gregory
and looked past him in silence into the morning-room. She did not seem
to feel it in any sense incumbent upon her