“You can have it; but it isn’t one of my best,” the girl said, still gazing. “Never mind; it is the one I should like.” Ada went from the room, and brought back the drawing with her. She was looking at some pencilling on the back. “Midsummer Day of last year,” she said. “I know,” was Isabel’s remark. “Thank you.” As she spoke, she moved nearer, and, as if at an impulse, kissed the giver. Ada reddened deeply, and almost immediately left the room again; nor did she return that evening. On the morrow they met just as before. At the end of that week the Strattons came to stay until Mrs. Clarendon’s departure for Scotland, where she was to be the guest of friends. With the colonel and his wife came their eldest son, the young gentleman studying at Sandhurst. He had very much of his father’s shyness, curiously imposed on a disposition fond of display. He liked to show his knowledge of the world, especially of its seamy sides, and, though not a little afraid of her, sought Ada’s society for the purpose of talking in a way which he deemed would be impressive to a girl. There was no harm in his rather simple-minded bravado, and Ada found a malicious pleasure in drawing him out. In her own mind she compared conversation with him to prodding the shallowness of a very muddy stream. Here the stick hit on an unexpected stone; there it sank into ooze not easily fathomed; there again it came in contact with much unassimilated refuse, portions of which could be jerked up to the surface. With the others she seldom spoke, and Isabel also she had begun to avoid again. She took long walks, or read in the open air. Sketching for the present she seemed to have had enough of. One morning in the second week, Robert Asquith joined the party. He came half-an-hour before luncheon. Isabel and Mrs. Stratton were on the lawn; after a little conversation, the latter moved towards the house. “By-the-bye,” Robert said, when he was alone with Isabel, “have you heard of the death of Sir Miles Lacour?” “The death!” exclaimed Isabel. “Indeed I have not.” “He died last night, in London, after a week’s illness. I heard it by. chance at my club. They say it was the consequence of an accident on the ice last winter.” Isabel became thoughtful. “Probably Miss Warren will hear of it very shortly,” Asquith remarked. “I don’t know, I’m sure. I can’t even say whether she is in communication with Mr. Lacour. But it does not concern us. You won’t, of course, mention the news.” She spoke of it in private with Mrs. Stratton. “Whatever the state of things may be,” said the latter, “I don’t see that this can alter it practically. The match becomes a respectable one, that’s all. And he can’t marry at once.” “Ada, in any case, won’t marry till next June; I’m sure of that,” said Isabel. Nothing was said openly, nor did Ada appear to receive any news which affected her.