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 The song broke off abruptly and Miles, upsetting his canvas stool, bowed politely.

"Good-morning," he said. "What a charming day for our work!"

Prudence, conquering her desire to laugh, returned his salutation with a little bend of her head.

"Allow me!" cried Miles. She silently yielded the easel, and he set it in place with much care, placed the canvas upon it, and opened her stool.

"I feared you were not coming," he said. "And I was sorry, for the light is—is perfect. I have set the easel right?"

"Mr. Fallon, you promised not to do this!" she said, coldly.

"To do?"

"To come here."

"Miss Lynde, that promise—if it