"It's awfully rude of me," he said, "but I'm afraid I don't remember." "Neither do I," she said. He smiled. So did she. "Let's call it quits," he suggested. "I'm afraid I must, but I shall hope to remember yet," she retorted whimsically. "Possibly it was at Cambridge," suggested Paul. "Rather not," put in Manning, restoring his piece to his arm, "Ursula never comes to see me." "Of course not," she returned equably, "why should I?" Manning laughed. They were good friends, these two. "Why, indeed," he said, "but you needn't rub it in. And you might be so nice as to come and have dinner in the immediate future and make up a four at bridge." "You must first," she said, "extract a nice note of invitation from Mr. Tressor, and it must include mother and auntie. In addition you must call upon us. Call this afternoon, and bring Mr. Kestern. Meantime you're just a little bit of a nuisance at the moment. I want to paint." "Kestern's a poet," remarked Manning gravely. The girl nodded. "'_Leaves in Autumn_,'" she said. Paul flushed. "You've read it?" he cried excitedly. She smiled slowly. "I've even painted it," she said. "What?" "Painted it. That is, there was one poem especially I couldn't forget. I saw it rather vividly." "Oh," said Paul, with a deep breath. Somehow the fact that she knew of his work and had appreciated it to that extent, seemed to him the biggest praise that he had had yet. He could not take his eyes off her. "Which one?" he asked at last. She considered him a moment Then: "I'll show you the sketch," she said, "and you shall guess which it is meant to illustrate." She got up as she spoke and turned round for a case that lay behind her in the punt. "Oh, do," cried Paul, starting forward. Manning laughed. "She's not got it there," he said. Something in his tone--a faint trace of mockery, it seemed to Paul--struck them both. Paul looked guilty of foolishness and the girl stood arrested. They both of them looked at Manning. That instant pose remained with Paul long afterwards as the key-note of their meeting. It was symbolic, somehow, as if Manning would always be faintly contemptuous of them. But why, the boy had no idea. "Well," said Ursula, and she spoke so soon that it was as if there had been no pause, "I have not, it is true. I was only going to pack up because I can paint no more just now, thanks to you, Arnold, you old rotter. But I will do more now. Mr. Kestern, will you walk back with me, and see your picture?" "May I?" asked Paul eagerly. Manning thrust his hand into his arm. "What about the Mill cottage?" he asked banteringly. "Oh, I clean forgot," said Paul, and hesitated.