s frank
camaraderie. They met as equals on the mental plane. Both were
profoundly interested in their respective life-work. They held ideas in
common on a score of impersonal topics. He told himself that he had
behaved very boorishly in his abrupt departure from Arles. It had been
unnecessary, as Chance had now pointed out to him by this second
accidental encounter. This acquaintanceship was the merest passing of
"ships that pass in the night"--in a day or two she would be away and
back to Paris, and in all human probability they would never meet again.

It was generous of her to have greeted him as though she had not noticed
the abruptness of his departure from Arles. It was generous of her to
have clipped out the newspaper advertisement and to have called his
attention to it. He mentally apologized to her for his curt behaviour.

The next morning, Riviere did not find Elaine at the Jardin de la
Fontaine. He wanted to meet her. He wanted to let her know indirectly
what he was feeling. And so, almost unconsciously, he found himself
walking away from the Jardin towards the centre of the town, towards the
ruined arena and the Roman temple known as the Maison Carree. Most
probably she would be sketching at one or other of them.

He found her at the Maison Carree--a square Roman temple on which Time
has laid no rougher hand than on a white-haired mother still rosy of
cheek and young of heart. Elaine was sketching it in her book with the
bold lines of the scene-painter, ignoring detail and working only for
the high-lights and deep shadows. Round her, peeking over her shoulders
and chattering shrilly, were a group of children. In the background
lounged a young Provencal peasant with a nose twisted out of shape.

"Shall I lure the children away?" asked Riviere as he raised his soft
felt hat.

"Thanks--it would be a relief," answered Elaine, but with a coldness in
her greeting that struck him as curious.

A few coppers scattered the children; the peasant slunk sullenly away.
His eye and Riviere's met, but there was no recognition on the part of
the latter.

"Are you working this morning?" asked Elaine presently.

"No, I'm learning." He nodded towards her sketch-book. "May I continue
the lesson?"

"Compliments are barred," she replied stiffly. "I neither give nor take
them."

Riviere groped mentally for the reason of this curious change of
attitude. Yesterday she had been frankly friendly; to-day she held
herself di