his, or the pleasant
voice which seemed to float in through the window upon the moonbeams,
and find an echo in Leslie's heart. Once or twice she tried to cast
him out of her mind. There seemed to her something almost approaching
unmaidenliness in dwelling so much upon this stranger; the young man
whom she had seen for only a few minutes, and whom she might never
see again. Why, she did not even know his name, or at any rate only
a part of it. "Yorke," Mr. Temple had called him, and she murmured
it absently. "Yorke." It seemed to her to fit him exactly. It had a
brave, alert sound in it. She could fancy him ready for any danger,
any emergency. He had plunged into the waves after Dick, as if it were
quite a matterthe invitation.

"The Duke of Rothbury?" he says. "I--I think I've heard the title
somewhere. Why do they ask us to go with them? I don't want to go; and
I suppose you don't care for it. They are strangers, perfect strangers
to us."

"He has already proved himself a very kind friend," says Leslie, gently.

He flushes.

"You mean in buying the picture? Yes, yes. But you know how I dislike
strangers, and--and--excursions of this kind. And if you don't want to
go very much I'd rather not. Besides, I don't particularly care about
making the acquaintance of a duke; I am an artist, a professional man,
and I do not believe in associating with persons so far above me in
rank. No, we had better decline. I dare say my head will be all right
presently, and I shall