A friend of Mr. Ingram's wanted a historical picture, and it was so fortunate that he took a fancy to "King Canute!"--he had actually paid five-and-twenty guineas, and they had paid off the disagreeable butcher; and now father would have the new great-coat that he wanted so badly. Waveney had said all this with girlish frankness, as she and her new friend had paced up and down the garden path in the September darkness; but Althea had made no answer. She only shivered a little, as though she were cold; and a few minutes later she proposed to return to the house. "It is a beautiful evening, but we must not forget that it is September," she had observed. But her voice was a little strained. No, she had never really realised until that moment how badly things had gone with him; that mention of the great-coat had effectually opened her eyes. And then, as though to mock her, a little scene rose before her--a certain golden afternoon spent in an old studio at Chelsea, where Everard Ward and a friend had established themselves. How well she remembered it! and the balcony full of flowers overlooking the river, with a gay awning overhead. It was summer time, and she had put on a white gown in honour of the occasion, and Everard had brought her a cluster of dark, velvety roses. "They will give you the colour you need," he had said, looking at her admiringly; what an ideal artist he had seemed to her in his brown velveteen coat! The yellow sunshine seemed to make a halo round his fair hair. "You look like a glorified angel, Ward," his friend had said, laughingly. "What do you say, Miss Harford--would he not do for Ithuriel in my picture of Adam and Eve sleeping in Paradise, with the Evil One whispering in Eve's ear. Do you remember the passage: 'Him thus intent Ithuriel with his spear touched lightly.' Look here, old man, you must sit for me to-morrow." But Everard had only grumbled and looked bored. In those days great-coats had certainly not been lacking. And as this thought occurred to her, Althea had shivered and become silent. About four-and-twenty hours later Mollie received the following letter, which she carried off to her bedroom and read over and over again. She had already had the note in which Waveney had described the Cubby-house and her Pansy Room, and Mollie had certainly not expected another so soon.