The young man drew in deep draughts of it; he threw back his head,
and, opening his mouth, revelled in the joy of feeling it steal softly
down his throat and permeate his lungs. He was thus engaged when the
sound of a voice brought him sharply back to earth. In the open doorway of the house, an amused expression in her violet
eyes, stood a girl--so wondrously pretty, that at the sight of her
Shiel was again overcome, and could only gaze in helpless admiration. "Do you want to see my father?" she inquired. "He is getting ready to
go out, but I daresay he will see you first." "I--I am sure he will," the young man replied, "I'm Shiel Davenport. I've come to tell him my uncle died at four o'clock this morning." "Oh, dear!" the girl exclaimed, "I am so sorry--sorry for you, and for
my father. I'm sure he will be terribly upset. I'm Gladys Martin,
perhaps you've heard of me--I knew your uncle." "Often," Shiel said, "And I think my uncle's description of you an
excellent one." "His description of me!" "Yes! he always spoke of you as the Queen of Flowers, and said you had
a mania for all things beautiful, which was not surprising, seeing how
beautiful you were yourself." "That was very nice of him," Gladys said, looking amused again. "Won't
you come in? If you will wait here"--she led him to the
drawing-room--"I'll tell my father." She disappeared, and Shiel heard her run lightly up the stairs. "By Jove," he said to himself, "she's the loveliest girl I've ever
seen. From being so much among flowers, she has become one herself. Violets, roses, and heliotrope have all had a share in her creation! What eyes, what a mouth! what teeth! what hands! Surely I have found
here, not only the perfection of all things beautiful, but the
perfection of all things natural, the perfection of natural grace in
contradistinction from artificial grace. Moreover, she is a
romanticist. There is an expression of romance, of unworldliness, in
those deep-set eyes of hers, that sinks into my heart of hearts. 'Romance' and 'womanliness,' and the two terms appear to me to be
convertible, are her distinguishing features. She is an artist, an
idealist, and, over and above all--a woman! Hang it! I'm in love with
her!" More he could not evolve, for his meditations were abruptly cut short
by the entrance of a servant, who ushered him, straightway, into the
presence of John Martin. The latter, though visibly affected by the news of his friend's death,
was a man of the world, and, consequently, came to business at once. Much had to be discussed--arrangements for the funeral, the
examination of correspondence relative to the firm, and plans for the
immediate future. "You don't know how my uncle's affairs stand, I suppose?" Shiel asked
somewhat nervously. "Yes," John Martin said, "I do. May I ask if you have any private
means at all--or are you solely dependent on what you earn? By the
way, what is your calling?" "I am an artist," Shiel said. "No, I've nothing beyond what my uncle
was good enough to allow me." "An artist!" John Martin murmured, "how like Dick! Have you
entertained the idea of inheriting a fortune? Have you any reason to
suppose that your uncle was well off and had made you his heir!" "I gathered so, sir, from the manner in which he lived and his
attitude towards me." "Well! we won't talk it over now--leave it till after the funeral. Are
you bent on continuing painting? There is very little remuneration in
it, is there?" "Not much," Shiel answered gloomily, "but I shouldn't care to give it
up--unless of course it is absolutely necessary for me to do so." "Being an artist you wouldn't be much good in business." "None!" "At all events, you are candid. Well! I don't see any good in our
dallying here--I had best go back with you to Sydenham. I've got a
letter to write first, but I shan't be long." He was long enough, however, for Shiel to have another chat with
Gladys. "Do you believe in dreams?" she asked him. "I had such a queer
one last night, about trees and flowers; and, oddly enough, my father
also dreamed of trees and flowers, and of the very same ones too. I am
going into Town to-day to consult a firm that has just set up, called
the Modern Sorcery Company Ltd. They profess to interpret dreams, and
I am anxious to see whether they can." "In Cockspur Street, aren't they?" Shiel asked. "I saw their
advertisement in one of the papers. I presume you are not going there
alone?" "No!" Gladys laughed, "I shall go with a friend, though I often do go
into Town alone. I can assure you I am quite capable of looking after
myself. In that respect, at least, I am quite up to date. Probably you
are more accustomed to French girls?" "Yes! I have spent most of my life in Paris," Shiel said. "But how
could you tell that?" "Oh! I guessed you were an artist--and had probably spent some time in
Paris"--Gladys rejoined, "by the way you looked at the house and
garden. I could read appreciation in your eyes and gesture; such
appreciation, as I knew, could only come from an artist. G.W. Barnett
helped me in planning this cottage and the garden." "What! Barnett the landscape painter! I am a great admirer of his
work. Were you a pupil of his?" "Yes, he was one of the visiting R.A.'s at the Beechcroft Studio in St.
John's Wood, where I worked for three years. We were then living in
Blackheath--St. John's Park--a hateful place. Mr. Barnett was awfully
good, when I told him we were moving, and that I wanted to live in
really artistic surroundings--he suggested that I should be my own
architect, and promised to do everything he could to assist me,"

"And your father hadn't a say in the matter," Shiel commented, with an
amused smile. "Not in that," Gladys said complacently, "though there are one or two
things in which he has a very decided say. Father can be very
self-willed and obstinate, when he likes. But as I was remarking when
you interrupted me--"

"I beg pardon!" Shiel murmured. "Mr. Barnett promised to assist me. He came over here with me, and we
chose this site." "Is he an old man?" Shiel inquired, a trifle anxiously. "Not much more than middle aged--fifty perhaps!" Gladys said, "though
he looks much younger. He is still very good-looking. Well! he came
over here--we chose this site, and--"

"Is he married?" "No! Really you seem very interested in him. Perhaps you will meet him
some day: he comes here a good deal. As I was saying, we chose the
site together, and he supervized the plans I drew up for the garden
and cottage; I don't think, perhaps, I should have thought of that
avenue if it hadn't been for him!" "At all events it does you both credit," Shiel remarked, "for a more
charming house and garden I have never seen. I should like to live
here all my life. I should like--" but he was interrupted by John
Martin. "Come, it's time we were off," the latter called out
brusquely, "time and trains wait for no man!" "A young ass!"