The quick little motor-brougham seemed unusually slow-going that afternoon. Innocent, with her full happy heart and young pulsing blood, grew impatient with its tardy progress, yet, as a matter of fact, it travelled along at its most rapid speed. The well-known by-street near Holland Park was reached at last, and while the brougham went off to an accustomed retired corner chosen by the chauffeur to await her pleasure, she pushed open the gate of the small garden leading to the back entrance of Jocelyn's studio--a garden now looking rather damp and dreary, strewn as it was with wet masses of fallen leaves. It was beginning to rain--and she ran swiftly along the path to the familiar door which she opened with her private key. Jocelyn was working at his easel--he heard the turn of the lock and looked round. She entered, smiling--but he did not at once go and meet her. He was finishing off some special touch of colour over which he bent with assiduous care,--and she was far too unselfishly interested in his work to disturb him at what seemed to be an anxious moment. So she waited. Presently he spoke, with a certain irritability in his tone. "Are you there? I wish you would come forward where I can see you!" She laughed--a pretty rippling laugh of kindly amusement. "Amadis! If you are a true Knight, it is you who should turn round and look at me for yourself!" "But I am busy," he said, with the same sharpness of voice--"Surely you see that?" She made no answer, but moved quietly to a position where she stood facing him at about an arm's length. Never had she made a prettier picture than in that attitude of charming hesitation, with a tender little smile on her pretty mouth and a wistful light in her eyes. He laid down his palette and brushes. "I must give up work for to-day," he said--and going to her he took her in his arms--"You are too great an attraction for me to resist!" He kissed her lightly, as he would have kissed a child. "You are very fascinating this afternoon! Are you bent on some new conquest?" She gave him a sweet look. "Why will you talk nonsense, my Amadis!" she said--"You know I never wish for 'conquests' as you call them,--I only want you! Nothing but you!" With his arm about her he drew her to a corner of the studio, half curtained, where there was a double settee or couch, comfortably cushioned, and here he sat down still holding her in his embrace. "You only want me!--Nothing but me!" he repeated, softly--"Dear little Innocent!--Ah!--But I fear I am just what you cannot have!" She smiled, not understanding. "What do you mean?" she asked--"You always play with me! Are you not all mine as I am all yours?" He was silent. Then he slowly withdrew his arm from her waist. "Now, child," he said--"listen to me and be good and sensible! You know this cannot go on." She lifted her eyes trustfully to his face. "What cannot go on?" she queried, as softly as though the question were a caress. He moved restlessly.