I drew my Byron from its place of concealment. "Ah, if you had started at the beginning of the stanza with, 'There is a pleasure in the pathless wood,' I would have known," she said. "Still----" We turned the pages together, lingering through a new land of delight that was delicious and wonderful. I read "She walks in Beauty," and we sat in silence after the lines, "A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent." "I'm not so sure, Frank," she said at length. "My mind is not so much at peace as I could wish; my love is perhaps not so----" She left the sentence unfinished. "I know it is," I said, "I know it is." The book lay open before us. Her hands had fallen on its printed pages. I drew them slowly into mine; drew them up and about my neck. "Jean," I whispered, "You know there is only, ultimately, one answer. Why not give it now!" "Not yet, Frank. We shall see. Don't you understand? I must wait and see whether you have really--outgrown yourself--or are just memorizing verses with me for a prize." "All right," I said. "I'll wait and prove it. But I warn you--I can't foresee where this thing is going to lead. It may not be content with books, only; already I'm rather sure it will want more than books. It may lead me out into the world. There are other women, there, Jean," I added, significantly. "I know. I understand. I must take my chance. It is worth even that to be sure--in the end." After a while I made tea, and just as we were sitting down to it came a knock at the door. It was a sharp, dignified knock; not the boisterous thump which either Jack or Marjorie would have given it. "Who's that?" we asked each other. "Alas, we are discovered!" Jean rippled. "It is a real adventure." I opened the door to find Spoof's tall figure outside, and in his arms a large and pudgy and uncertain bundle. It was a moment before I saw the second figure--that of a woman. She wore a heavy fur coat, and her face was veiled for the inclement day. "Why, Spoof! . . . . Come in!" I commanded. "Jean and I are just having tea. Let me put your oxen in." "They are all right for the moment; they're in the shelter. I must make some introductions, first." We welcomed them in, and Spoof set his bundle down on end in the middle of the floor, and began to unwind it. The woman removed her coat and cap and veil. It was Mrs. Alton. The bundle resolved itself into Mrs. Alton's boy. "Miss Hall, let me present my wife," said Spoof. "My wife. And my son Gerald." CHAPTER XXIII. After the first blank moment of surprise I turned, not to Spoof or "Mrs. Alton" or the boy, but to Jean. There was a momentary tremulousness, but almost instantly Jean had herself under control; she was more the artist than I knew. I began to realize how far her artistry carried. "This _is_ news!" she cried. "When did----" She stopped short. A wave of color flushed her face. Gerald did not admit of casual explanation.