The picture was well on toward completion; the artist worked rapidly, with swift, sure instinct and obedient strokes. “Exactly!” Miss Carrington’s approval of the name was manifest. “Little Anne, you are a fortunate child, yet I think you help the artist.” “Mr. Wilberforce has been telling me stories about Fra Angelico, and how he prayed and prayed to be fit to paint Our Lord and his Blessed Mother. And he told me about Fra Bartolomeo and how he went to the monastery where they attacked Sav-on-a-ro-la.” Little Anne pronounced the long name carefully. “And it has been most good for me. ‛_Fra_’ means ‛brother,’ Miss Carrington. I’m afraid you don’t know about monks, but I do. Sisters are the same, only ladies, and I go to their school. I told Mr. Wilberforce and Mr. Latham lots of stories, too; all about St. Francis and the animals. He called them ‛Brother Wolf’ and ‛Sister Bird,’ and he loved them dearly! I don’t know what he’d ever have done if he’d seen Kitca! Or Cricket! Do you think when they look down, saints can see animals? Don’t you think they must, because they see me, and I’m always forever hugging Cricket and Kitca?” Little Anne leaned forward eagerly, but instantly remembered and resumed her pose. Her eyes were filled with the vision that her own question called up, and Ted worked rapidly on the eyes in his picture. “My dear little Anne, it seems to me quite as probable----” Miss Carrington checked herself. How could she insinuate her cavilling doubt to this child? “I am certain that the saints see and love the creatures,” she said instead, to her own surprise. Then she turned to Richard with a gentleness that he had never before felt in her. “And you, Mr. Latham? Are you well? Shall you stay with us in Cleavedge next winter?” she asked. “I am perfectly well, thank you, Miss Carrington,” Richard said. “No, not Cleavedge next winter. Ted Wilberforce and I are to foregather in New York; he has a studio there. He will paint; I shall write. We expect to have a sort of curtailed Parnassus; two of the Nine dwelling with us. Ted and I get on together, so the good old boy will take me in. We may go to Rome, but in the spring we’ll be back here.” “I am truly delighted!” cried Miss Carrington, and she looked so. “That is perfect! Mr. Wilberforce, I want to beg your pardon. I did not know when I met you the other day that you were related to Miss Dallas. Will you do me a great favour and prove that I am forgiven? Will you bring your cousin to see me--to-day?” Before Ted Wilberforce could answer, Richard interposed.