“Oh, it’s a lovely picture. She’s a girl running through a wood, and she has a bow and arrows in her hand. And she’s dressed in a short white thing—a tunic, you know, that comes to her knees. And her hair in father’s picture is red, like mine, and there’s a little moon, a tiny crescent moon, just over her forehead. And running behind her there are some other girls who are hunting with her. Father told me all about her the other day, because, you see, as I’ve got her name, I wanted to know.” “Tell me,” Rachel urged. “Well, the Greek people worshipped her, father said. She was the twin sister of Apollo——” “I know about _him_,” interrupted Rachel eagerly. “Phœbus Apollo. He was the Sun-God.” “Well, Diana was the _moon_-goddess. I suppose that’s because she was his twin sister? Sun and moon, you know. But, anyhow, she was the goddess of hunting as well. And she loved to be free and live out of doors in the woods. So do I—that’s why I’m glad my name’s Diana, like hers. And her father, Jupiter, let her be free, and gave her some girls called nymphs, to be her companions, and hunt with her in the woods and on the mountains.... I think the Greek people had awfully nice gods and goddesses, don’t you?” “Awfully nice,” agreed Rachel. She was thinking of the little white temple to Phœbus Apollo in “Cleon’s” beautiful garden, and of the great statue at Rhodes. She glanced at Diana, who was perched like an elf on the corner of the table, swinging her feet. How splendid it would be if she could tell her—well, all sorts of things. But would she understand? Wouldn’t she laugh and say, “You’ve just made them up!” Again Rachel glanced at her visitor. She looked as though she _might_ understand. There was something about her—But she determined to be very cautious. “When’s your birthday?” she began suddenly. “The seventh of May. When’s yours?” “The seventh of June.” Rachel found herself growing excited. This was a promising beginning. “How many brothers and sisters have you got?” “Six.” “Then you’re the seventh child?” Rachel held her breath now. “Yes. And I’m the youngest.” “So am I. And is your father the seventh child in his family?” She scarcely dared to put the question. Diana laughed, and began counting on her fingers. “Let me see—Uncle John, Aunt Margaret.... And there was Aunt May, but she died, and then Uncle Dick.... And then.... Yes, he _is_. I never thought about it before. What made _you_ think of it?” Diana seemed much amused, but Rachel was desperately serious. “Wait a minute,” she urged, “and perhaps I’ll tell you.” The next “minute” was occupied in putting breathless questions to Diana. “Yes!” she exclaimed at last. “You’re just as much mixed up with _sevens_ as I am. Oh, isn’t it perfectly _wonderful_ that I’ve actually found someone as lucky as I am? I shall have to tell Mr. Sheston.... But perhaps he knows. I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if he had something to do with getting us to meet each other. You see he——”