dre Chenier, and in the
effort dropping the large umbrella and marking this with a half-smiled
exclamation of disgust. Longmore stepped forward and picked up the
umbrella, and as she, protesting her gratitude, put out her hand to take
it, he recognised her as too obliging to the young man who had preceded
her.

"You've too much to carry," he said; "you must let me help you."

"You're very good, monsieur," she answered. "My husband always
forgets something. He can do nothing without his umbrella. He is d'une
etourderie--"

"You must allow me to carry the umbrella," Longmore risked; "there's too
much of it for a lady."

She assented, after many compliments to his politeness; and he walked
by her side into the meadow. She went lightly and rapidly, picking her
steps and glancing forward to catch a glimpse of her husband. She
was graceful, she was charming, she had an air of decision and yet of
accommodation, and it seemed to our friend that a young artist would
work none the worse for having her seated at his side reading Chenier's
iambics. They were newly married, he supposed, and evidently their path
of life had none of the mocking crookedness of some others. They asked
little; but what need to ask more than such quiet summer days by a shady
stream, with a comrade all amiability, to say nothing of art and books
and a wide unmenaced horizon? To spend such a morning, to stroll back to
dinner in the red-tiled parlour of the inn, to ramble away again as the
sun got low--all this was a vision of delight which floated before him
only to torture him with a sense of the impossible. All Frenchwomen were
not coquettes, he noted as he kept pace with his companion. She uttered
a word now and then for politeness' sake, but she never looked at him
and seemed not in the least to care that he was a well-favoured and
well-dressed young man. She cared for nothing but the young artist in
the shabby coat and the slouched hat, and for discovering where he had
set up his easel.

This was soon done. He was encamped under the trees, close to the
stream, and, in the diffused green shade of the little wood, couldn't
have felt immediate need of his umbrella. He received a free rebuke,
however, for forgetting it, and was informed of what he owed to
Longmore's complaisance. He was duly grateful; he thanked our hero
warmly and offered him a seat on the grass. But Longmore felt himself
a marplot and lingered only long enough to glance at the youn