“When are you coming over to see your picture?” “This autumn.” For a moment she paused. “You know my wishes, François? I have left René’s pictures to the Luxembourg. The two we like best--you know them--are to hang on either side of the portrait. It’s in my will, of course.” He smoked a moment without speaking. “I wonder if he’ll come and look at them?” he said at last. “I think he will, and you’ll smile at him out of the portrait.” “I’m so glad he liked it,” she answered softly, after a long pause. “He only saw it once. I never dared show it to him again. That’s why I put it away.” The birds had begun their evening song, and the garden rang with the voices of blackbirds and thrushes. “Well! I must get back to _The Chase_,” declared François, glancing at his watch. “I shall be late for dinner as it is. This is good-bye till September. Not a moment later mind, and then you will stay in Paris a decent time?” He looked at her, as she got up and stood for a moment embowered in the roses, her lace shawl hanging from her arms, her figure still beautiful and gracious. “The gods have granted you the gift of eternal youth, Anne,” he declared. “I want to paint another portrait.” She laughed, and shook her head. “There will be no more portraits,” she said. * * * * * She went with him as far as a little gate which gave upon the meadows, through which a field path led to _The Chase_. After he had gone she wandered into the lavender-garden, and in the gathering summer twilight paced the path between the grey-green borders. In the west, the sky was still flushed with sunset. The air, so quiet that not a leaf trembled, was sweet with the scent of flowers. Anne walked slowly, her mind occupied with pleasant trifles. She decided that the lilies in the south border must this autumn be divided. She must tell Davis to plant more daffodils in the orchard under the apple trees. There was the village children’s treat to be considered, and she must not forget to talk it over with the Vicar. Suddenly she remembered that Dr. Dakin was coming in to smoke his pipe and talk. Madge and the baby were returning on Thursday. He would therefore be in excellent spirits. The roses on the hedge round the sundial breathed a sweet strong fragrance into the dusk. Anne picked one of them, and tucked it into the front of her gown, before she turned towards the house. THE END PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES. * * * * * ADVERTISEMENTS THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM J. LOCKE “LIFE IS A GLORIOUS THING.”--_W. J. Locke_ “If you wish to be lifted out of the petty cares of to-day, read one of Locke’s novels. You may select any from the following titles and be certain of meeting some new and delightful friends. His characters are worth knowing.”--_Baltimore Sun._