Gilbert Mickle was making good progress with his drawing. He looked forward to the afternoons spent in the artist's company as the happiest in the week, and felt sincerely grateful to his father for allowing him to receive the lessons which he so greatly valued. As a rule, only Mr. Willis and Gilbert were in the studio on Saturday afternoons; but if it happened to be wet, sometimes Angel would venture to join them, and sit by the window as quiet as a mouse with her book or work, never uttering a word unless she was spoken to. Mr. Willis and Gilbert often conversed as they worked. Their talk was frequently beyond Angel's understanding, for they would discuss subjects about which the little girl was ignorant; on such occasions Gilbert's face would brighten, and his tongue become fluent, his mantle of reserve would drop from him, and he would appear at his best. He was growing much attached to Mr. Willis, attracted by his genial disposition and his never-failing tact. One afternoon he was returning from Haresdown House when he encountered Angel at the foot of the hill, and stopped to inquire if she had been with his sisters. "No," she replied; "they told me they were going shopping with your mother. I've been to deliver a note for Uncle Edward in the town. He asked Gerald to take it; but Gerald wanted to play cricket, and so—" "But Gerald is not playing cricket," he broke in; "at least, I think not." "Oh yes," Angel assured him. "He told me he was going to practise bowling at the nets." Gilbert looked incredulous, for he had his own reasons for doubting this statement, as on his way to Haresdown House that afternoon he had caught sight of Gerald and Reginald Hope, with their fishing rods, walking in the opposite direction to the field where the Grammar School boys played cricket. He had imagined they were bound for the clay pits to fish, as they were going that way. "What makes you think Gerald is not playing cricket?" Angel asked, a trifle anxiously, after a brief pause, adding, "He wouldn't tell me a story about it. He would have taken Uncle Edward's note himself if he hadn't wanted to play cricket." "I—I suppose so." "You suppose so? You don't think he'd tell me a story, do you?" Gilbert made no answer. Angel looked puzzled and a little hurt. "Well, good-bye," she said stiffly, casting a reproachful glance at him; "I mustn't stay talking any longer, for it's nearly teatime." "Good-bye," he answered, and stood leaning on his crutches, gazing after her as she commenced to climb the hill, wondering what could have induced her brother to tell her a deliberate untruth, for that Gerald had done so he was certain in his own mind. He turned towards Wreyford, and, after crossing the bridge, was very soon in the main street. Within sight of his own home he met Gerald Willis himself, and stopped him. "Hulloa, Willis!" he cried. "What sport, then?" "What do you mean?" Gerald asked, growing crimson. "I don't understand you."