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 make him miserable must be plumb locoed!

By which time he had reached the lane.

Bistre turned in unhesitatingly. Miles paused. Of course, he had no idea of trespassing on that forbidden territory; still, merely to walk through the orchard and have a look around was not prohibited. Perhaps, after all, she was not there this morning.

But she was. "When he reached the edge of the trees he saw her at her easel, her golden hair agleam in the morning sunlight. Half screened by the blossom-laden branches, he stood and looked down at her. And as he looked she laid aside her brush and, taking her chin into the curled palm of one white hand, sat looking past her canvas for all the world as though the