It was evidently an amateur production, but it was good for all that. And Ethan was troubling his head not at all as to its origin or its merits or defects. It was sufficient for him that it showed a small, graceful figure in white against a background of foliage, and that the eyes which looked straight into his from under the waving hair with its golden fillet were Hers. It was Clytie. One hand rested softly on a flower-clustered spray of azalea, one bare sandaled foot gleamed forth from under the straight white folds of the peplum and the lips were parted in a little startled smile. Ethan devoured it eagerly while his heart glowed and ached at once. He remembered telling her that he would like to see those pictures, and remembered her laughing response: “I’m afraid you never will!” And now he was looking at one of them after all! And he was still looking when the gardener entered with the replenished wood-basket. “Where did this come from, Billings?” Ethan asked carelessly. Billings set down his burden and crossed to the table. He was a small man, well toward sixty, with his weather-beaten face shrivelled into innumerable tiny, kindly wrinkles. In spite of his years, however, he showed no signs of the mental degeneration which his wife had feared. He came and looked near-sightedly at the card which Ethan held out. “Why, sir, Lizzie came across that in one of the upstair rooms when she was cleaning up after the folks went away and she put it on the mantel here, thinking maybe it was valuable and they’d send back for it.” “I see.” Ethan laid it on the table, his eyes still upon it. “I don’t think they’ll want it. Doubtless Miss Devereux has plenty more.” “Yes, sir; they took a good many, sir, between them.” “They? Oh, she had a friend with her?” “Yes, sir. Miss Hoyt. I remember when they was taking those, sir. It was early in the summer, soon after they came. The young ladies they dressed themselves up in those queer things――sort o’ like sheets, they was, sir――” the gardener’s voice became faintly apologetic, as though he had not quite approved of such doings――“and went out on the lawn one forenoon. They got me to cut away a bit of the branches, sir, right here.” Billings indicated the upper left-hand corner of the picture. “She said she had to have more light. It wasn’t much, sir; just a few old twigs; no harm done, sir.” “Of course not. It was――Miss Devereux asked you?” “Yes, sir; Miss Laura they called her. A very pleasant young lady, sir.” “Very pleasant, Billings,” assented Ethan with a sigh. “You know her, then, sir?” “I――hardly that; I’ve met her.” “Yes, sir.” Billings turned toward the fire. “Shall I drop another log on, sir?” “No, I shall be going to bed very shortly.” “Very well, sir.” Billings mended the fire, replaced the tongs and stood carefully erect again, chuckling reminiscently. Then finding Ethan’s eyes on him questioningly he said: “she took me, sir, too, with her camery.”