lf becoming your coach
for the next six months. I need not say that any small assistance I can
offer is heartily at your service also."

"Oh!" said May, with wistful brown eyes and a long-drawn sigh, "you are
a great deal too good to me, all of you. I don't deserve it. It would
only be too much happiness for me to have father and you to coach
me--but I know we could not afford it."

"Wait and see," said Tom succinctly.

"If I got that situation," said Dora timidly, "I might do something to
help May: I mean the one where the lady said she would take me into
consideration, but we thought it would not do, because I should have to
go out to Jamaica. On second thoughts, I am not sure that I'd mind so
very much going. The lady seemed to consider I might be able to do what
she required, and I should only be away for a year or two, since the
family are coming back then. The salary was very good."

Dora go out to Jamaica to help May, or any one else! Not though he had
to fling cheques in at the windows, and squeeze Bank of England notes
through the keyholes, to prevent it.

"Hester Jennings says she would not be very much surprised if she heard
of a buyer for my tulip picture; but I don't know," said Rose
doubtfully, glancing at the picture, which was on an adjoining table.

"May I look at it?" asked Tom Robinson, jumping up with alacrity,
probably to make a diversion in the conversation from the obnoxious
topic of Dora's problematical voyage to Jamaica. He had seen Rose's work
at Redcross, and he could give it as his honest opinion that she had
made a great advance in her art, though he did not profess to be a
judge. He said, however, that he had a friend, an old St. Ambrose crony,
who was an artist. They had happened to be together in Rome at a later
date, had been a good deal thrown on each other's company there, and had
continued to keep up a friendly intercourse. He requested permission for
his friend to call and look at the little picture. He might be of use to
Rose in disposing of it; he was always ready to help a fellow-artist.
Tom supposed the Millars had heard his friend's name, it was pretty well
known; indeed they might have seen him, for Pemberton and Lady Mary, his
wife, had spent a few days with Tom at Redcross, and had been in church
on the Sunday during their visit, the summer before last.

In spite of the obligations of good breeding, the Millars looked at each
other in open-mouthed astonishment. Certain