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 storm in anger, or lash him with her sharp unsparing tongue. She only turned away, saying very low, 'I would sooner kill you than let you paint me for—for exhibition.'

"Val only laughed, and at this time no more was said on the subject. I think five minutes afterwards the little fury was sitting at the piano, and giving us what she called 'the sense' of that delightful song to Anthea, which Val used to sing so splendidly. I believe I can remember the words still:—

A round of laughter followed this declamation, as Norman Druce paused to re-light his pipe.

"By Jove!" cried Denis O'Hara, "I should like to have known that girl. She must have been a caution! But go on, old chap. It's getting interesting. Of course, he did paint her?"

"You know the sketch," said Norman, quietly; "I don't know how long he was doing it, or when he managed to get the likeness: it is lifelike. We none of us knew what he was about, Cigarette least of all. They quarrelled as much as ever, and she seemed as saucily defiant—as mischievous and uncertain in her moods as we had always known her. But sometimes I thought I detected a change in the girl. She had fits of quietude, almost of sadness; she seemed to take more pains with her personal appearance, to be less random of speech, less bold of tongue. I was older and graver and steadier than the others, and in some vague way she seemed to trust me more, and be more natural with me than with them. I met her sometimes taking long, aimless walks, book in hand—she who used to declare she hated books, and would ridicule and parody the most sublime poem that ever was written. But among us all, and specially when Val Beresford was present, she was the same wild, laughing, mutinous creature we had grown to know so well. Time passed on; our tenancy was almost over. We had painted and sketched our fill, and were already half-regretful that we must give up those pleasant quarters and our lazy Bohemian life. One night we were all sitting together before the fire; it was close on Christmas, and the weather was cold and damp. Cigarette had not appeared for two or three days. We were wondering at her absence, and speculating as to her probable appearance to-night.

I hope she will come,' said Val, 'for I want to show you all my picture, and I should like her to be present.'