She made the Painter feel uncomfortable, she looked so knowing, and he became loud in his advice to send Cora home at once. "Pack her off," he cried. "She is wasting time and money by staying. She never had a particle of talent, and the sooner she goes back to Lynxville the better." Miss Snell shrank from his vehemence, and wished she had not insisted upon coming to consult him. She had assured Cora that the merest hint would bring matters to a crisis. Cora would imagine that she had bungled matters terribly, and she was mortified at the thought of returning with the news of a repulse. As soon as she had gone, the Painter felt sorry he had been so hasty. He had bundled her unceremoniously out of the studio, pleading important work. He called twice in the rue Notre Dame des Champs, but the porter would never let him pass her lodge, and he at last realized that she had been given orders to that effect. A judicious tip extracted from her the fact that Miss Price expected to leave for America the following Saturday, and, armed with an immense bouquet, he betook himself to the St. Lazare station at the hour for the departure of the Havre express. He arrived with only a minute to spare before the guard's whistle was answered by the mosquitolike pipe that sets the train in motion. The Botticelli profile was very haughty and cold. Miss Snell was there, of course, bathed in tears. He had just time enough to hand in his huge bouquet through the open window before the train started. He caught one glimpse of an angry face within, when suddenly his great nosegay came flying out of the compartment, and striking him full in the face, spread its shattered paper and loosened flowers all over the platform at his feet.