“I knew it was he,” said Clytie. “Go, dear,” said Winifred, putting her arm round Clytie's waist and moving with her across the studio to the door. Clytie kissed her laughingly and disappeared. But two tears rolled down Winifred's cheek as she went back to the chair by the stove; and then she flung herself down where she had been sitting, and burying her face in her arm, began to cry bitterly. “I don't like him, I don't like him; he will spoil my darling,” she moaned. Sometimes knowledge is given to those who seek after it least. CHAPTER XIV. The unexpected always happens, often inopportunely. Winifred had risen from the ground by the stove and was standing miserably before her easel when a knock was heard at the studio door. She cried, “Come in!” and Kent entered. He was looking rather pale and worn out, his beard sinking ever so little into his cheeks; his eyes were tired. On seeing him Winifred could not restrain a start of surprise. “Why, Mr. Kent! you here at this hour of the day!” “Yes; I have just come back from the Museum. I went up to tell them I wasn't coming, as they say in Ireland. The fact is I am feeling lazy and want a few days' slackness.” “You have been overworking yourself, that's what you have been doing,” said Winifred with kind severity. “Come and sit down by the stove and rest yourself. You want someone to look after you.” She pulled the chair that Clytie had been occupying a little forward, by way of invitation. “What a good little creature you are, Winifred,” he said as he sat down. “You always think of other people. Men don't seem able to do it; they are too much wrapped up in themselves. How are you all--you and the children? You must make them invite me to tea soon. I have not seen them for ages.” “Oh, they are quite well again,” replied Winifred, brightening, “and they have been clamouring for Kent, as they call you. I'll tell them to send you an 'At Home' card. And it must be soon, for you are going abroad. When do you think of starting?” Kent sighed and looked into the fire. “I don't quite know yet; I wanted to see Clytie first. Where is she?” “She has a visitor--in her sitting-room,” replied Winifred somewhat shortly. But Kent was too absorbed in his own affairs to notice the change of tone. “Will she be engaged long?” “Probably.” “I wanted so much to see her.” Winifred looked at him for a moment and then came and put her hand lightly on his shoulder. “You seem so unhappy. Is it about Clytie? You and she have quarrelled or had some difference,--she has not told me what it is,--and I have been so grieved. If I knew, perhaps I might bring things straight.” “Would you, Winifred?” said Kent eagerly. “Of course. Don't I love Clytie better than anybody else--and haven't you been a good kind friend to me? I haven't asked her--nor you--why you have stopped being friends, because one shrinks from asking such questions, but I have seen it, and I have been so, so sorry.”