What "George"? If Mr. Sarratt wanted you to paint and powder----'

'He wouldn't be the "George" I married? There's something in that!'
laughed Nelly. Then she lifted her hand to shade her eyes against the
westering sun--'Isn't that Sir William coming?'

She pointed doubtfully to a distant figure walking along the path that
skirts the western edge of the lake. Miss Martin put up her glasses.

'Certainly. Coming no doubt to give you a lesson. But where are your
sketching things?'

Nelly rose in a hurry.

'I forgot about them when I came out. The telegram--' She pressed her
hands to her eyes, with a long breath.

'I'll run back for them. Will you tell him?'

She departed, and Hester awaited her cousin. He came slowly along the
lake, his slight lameness just visible in his gait--otherwise a splendid
figure of a man, with a bare head, bearded and curled, like a Viking in
a drawing by William Morris. He carried various artist's gear slung
about him, and an alpenstock. His thoughts were apparently busy, for he
came within a few yards of Hester Martin, before he saw her.

'Hullo! Hester--you here? I came to get some news of Mrs. Sarratt and
her husband. Is he all right?'

Hester repeated the telegram, and added the information that seeing him
coming, Mrs. Sarratt had gone in search of her sketching things.

'Ah!--I thought if she'd got good news she might like to begin,' said
Farrell. 'Poor thing--she's lucky! Our casualties these last few days
have been awful, and the gain very small. Men or guns--that's our
choice just now. And it will be months before we get the guns. So
practically, there's no choice. Somebody ought to be hung!'

He sat down frowning. But his face soon cleared, and he began to study
the point of view.

'Nothing to be made of it but a picture post-card,' he declared.
'However I daresay she'll want to try it. They always do--the beginners.
The more ambitious and impossible the thing, the better.'

'Why don't you _teach_ her?' said Hester, severely.

Farrell laughed.

'Why I only want to amuse her, poor little soul!' he said, as he put his
easel together. 'Why should she take it seriously?'

'She's more intelligence than you think.'

'Has she? What a pity! There are so many intelligent people in the
world, and so few pretty ones,'

He spoke with a flippant self-confidence that annoyed his cousin. But
she knew very well that she was poorly off in the gifts that were
required to scourge him