nd bring him to
her feet, and then dismiss him. She had thawed him already. To do him
some special favour would be a most excellent means of attaining the
second end. She answered:

"Anything in reason I'll do gladly."

"You know that I want to avoid Monte Carlo. I don't even want my
sister-in-law to know that I'm at Nimes."

"Yes?"

"Will you write a letter for me to say that I'm unwell and can't travel
away from Arles?"

Elaine looked at him searchingly. "It's certainly a most unusual request
to make of a mere acquaintance," she remarked.

"I have good reasons for asking it."

"Then I'll do what you ask."

"Would you mind coming round to my rooms?"

"Certainly; if you'll wait until I've finished this sketch."

She worked on in silence for another quarter of an hour, completing her
picture with rapid, vigorous brush-strokes. Then he took up her
campstool and easel, and they walked together alongside the Roman
aqueduct to the centre of the town, under an avenue of tall, spreading
plane trees, yellow with the first delicate leaves of Spring like the
feathers of a newborn chick.

The sunshine caressed the little garden of the Villa Clementine,
coquetting with the flaming cannas, twinkling amongst the pebbles of the
paths, stroking the backs of the lazy goldfish. Seating Elaine in the
arbour, Riviere brought out pen and ink and a sheet of paper headed
"Hotel du Forum, Place du Forum, Arles," which he happened to have kept
by accident from his visit to the town. Then he dictated a formal letter
to Mrs Matheson, explaining that he was laid up with a touch of fever
and would not be able to join her at Monte Carlo. The illness was not
serious, and there was no cause for anxiety. Nevertheless it kept him
tied. He hoped she would excuse him.

"There will be a Nimes postmark on the envelope," commented Elaine as
she wrote the address.

"No; I shall go over to Arles this afternoon and post it there. As you
know, it's scarcely an hour away by train." He glanced at his watch.
"Past twelve o'clock already! Won't you stay and take lunch with me?
Madame Giras is famous in Nimes for her _bouillabaisse_."

She agreed readily, and a dainty lunch was soon served them in the
covered arbour. Over the olives and _bouillabaisse_ and the _oeufs
provencals_ they chatted in easy, friendly fashion about impersonal
matters--the strange charm of Provence, art, music, the theatre.

From that the conversation passed imperceptibly t