en established in business for eight months. My total
takings from the portraiture branch had not totalled thirty shillings;
and if my neighbours had not grown accustomed to it, the sign at the
bottom of the garden must have appeared very ridiculous indeed. I
therefore anticipated the arrival of excursionists with no little eager
interest.

Half a dozen houses in the village had got out brand new boards
indicating that Teas were provided within, and I knew that from this
date forward until the autumn a very brisk trade would be done on sunny
Saturday afternoons and holidays.

Soon after half-past twelve I caught sight of the advance guard
approaching. The footpaths between Windyridge and Marsland Moor became
dotted with microscopic moving figures which materialised usually into
male and female, walking two and two, even as they went into the ark,
as Widow Robertshaw might have observed.

When they reached the village street the sight of my studio seemed to
astonish them and tickle their fancy. "In the spring a young man's
fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love"--and portraiture. Quite a
group of young people gathered about my sign before two o'clock, and
from that time until five I never sat down for one minute. As fast as
I bowed out one couple another entered, amid a fusillade of
good-humoured chaff and curtly-expressed injunctions to "be quick about
it." I took so much money, comparatively speaking, in three short
hours that I began to see visions and dream dreams--but the Cynic
dispelled them.

He was standing in the garden, talking to Mother Hubbard, when I locked
up the studio, and although he was in shorts I recognised him at once,
for thus had I seen him in my dream. I involuntarily glanced at myself
to make sure that I was correctly garbed and that it was really the
key, and not Madam Rusty's teapot, that I held in my hand.

He came forward smilingly and held out his hand. "How do you do, Miss
Holden? I had intended asking you to take my photograph, but
competition for your favour was so keen that the modesty which has
always been my curse forced me to the background."

"If it had forced you to the background you would have entered my
studio, Mr. Derwent," I replied; "all those who have competed
successfully for my favour were not deterred by dread of the
background. I fear, however, it is now too late to endeavour to
encourage you to overcome your bashfulness."

"Indeed, yes:

"'The sh