'Hyacinth's gone to the National Gallery,' she volunteered. 'Did you want to see her? You will find her there.' Cecil walked a few steps with her. 'I'm going to the greengrocer's,' continued Anne, 'to complain.' She held a little book in her hand, and he noticed that she wore a golf cap, thick boots, and a mackintosh, although it was a beautiful day. 'I always dress like this,' she said, 'when I'm going to complain of prices. Isn't it a glorious day? The sort of day when everyone feels happy and hopeful.' 'I don't feel either,' said Cecil candidly. 'No, you don't look it. Why not go and see some pictures?' He smiled. They parted at the corner. Then Cecil, without leaving any message for Hyacinth, jumped into a hansom, giving the man the address of his club in Pall Mall. On the way he changed his mind, and drove to the National Gallery. As he went up the steps his spirits rose. He thought he recognised Miss Verney's motor waiting outside. There was something of an adventure in following her here. He would pretend it was an accident, and not let her know yet that he had called. He wandered through the rooms, which were very empty, and came upon Hyacinth seated on a red velvet seat opposite a Botticelli. She looked more dejected than he could have thought possible, her type being specially formed to express the joy of life. It was impossible to help feeling a thrill of flattered vanity when he saw the sudden change in her expression and her deep blush when she recognised him. 'I didn't know you ever came here,' she said, as they shook hands. 'It's a curious coincidence I should meet you when, for once in my life, I come to study the Primitives,' said Cecil. He then seated himself beside her. 'Don't you think all that '--he waved his hand towards the pictures--'is rather a superstition?' 'Perhaps; but it's glorious, I think. These are the only pictures that give me perfect satisfaction. All others, however good they are, have the effect of making me restless,' said Hyacinth. 'I haven't had a moment's rest,' said Cecil, 'since I saw you yesterday afternoon. Why were you so unkind?' 'Was it unkind?' she asked. Her face was illuminated. They spent an hour together; had horrible tea in the dismal refreshment-room, and having agreed that it seemed a shame to spend a lovely day within these walls, he said-- 'I don't think I've ever met you out of doors--in the open air, I mean.' 'It would be nice,' said Hyacinth. He proposed that they should do something unconventional and delightful, and meet the next day in Kensington Gardens, which he assured her was just as good as the country just now. She agreed, and they made an appointment. 'How is Mrs Raymond?' she then asked abruptly. 'I don't know. Mrs Raymond--she's charming, and a great friend of mine, of course; but we've quarrelled. At least I'm not going to see her again.' 'Poor Mrs Raymond!' exclaimed Hyacinth. 'Or perhaps I ought to be sorry for you?'