Then Brenda checked herself. If he did not care to tell her, she could afford to hide her curiosity. After he left her she wondered what the engagement was. "I'll see you at the studio to-morrow." This was Arthur's parting word, in a pleasanter tone than that of a moment before. "Yes, perhaps so; I'm really not sure." The next day, toward four o'clock, Brenda and her little niece, Lettice, mounted the stairs to the studio. The stairs were long and narrow, for Ralph Weston, on his return from Europe, had chosen a studio in the top of one of the old houses opposite the Garden, in preference to a newer building. When his wife and her sister had protested that he would see them very seldom if he persisted in having this inaccessible studio, "It may seem ungallant to say so," he had said, "but that is one of my reasons for choosing to perch myself in this eyrie. I am all the less likely to be interrupted when seeking inspiration for a masterpiece. If I were connected with the earth by an elevator I should never be safe from interruption. In fact, I should probably urge you and your friends to spend your spare time here. But now, knowing that it would be an imposition to expect you to climb those stairs more than once a week, I feel quite secure until Thursday rolls around." "Oh, you needn't worry. That glimpse across the Garden from your window showing the State House as the very pinnacle of the city is beautiful, but we can live without it, if _you_ can exist without us;" and Brenda drew herself up with dignity. On this particular afternoon as she reached the studio door with Lettice clinging to her hand she was flushed and almost out of breath. Within the studio her sister Agnes, giving a few last touches to the table, exclaimed in surprise at sight of the little girl. "Why, Lettice, what in the world are you doing here?" "Oh, auntie found me in the park, and she sent nurse off." Then Brenda explained that Lettice looked so sweet that she just couldn't bear to leave her behind, "and nurse," she added, "fortunately had a very important errand down town, and was so glad that I could take Lettice off her hands, and so--" "'The lady protests too much, methinks,'" interposed Ralph. "But you really need not apologize. I am always glad to have Lettice here, even though her mother does think her too young to receive at afternoon teas." "At four years old--I should think so. There, dear, you mustn't touch anything on the table," for the little girl, on tiptoe, was trying to reach a plate of biscuit. Lettice withdrew her hand quickly, and, when her wraps were removed, allowed herself to be perched on a tabaret, where her mother said she was safe from harming or being harmed.