"Oh yes; my execution is not much yet. But that will come in time. Of course, the subject, the idea, is the important thing; the execution is secondary." Here she paused; something seemed to come into her mind. "I know _you_ do not think so," she added, thoughtfully, "because, you know, you said"--and here she quoted a page from one of his art articles with her clear accuracy. "I have never understood what you meant by that, Mr. Noel; or why you wrote it." She looked at him questioningly. He did not reply; his eyes were upon one of the sketches. "It would be dreadful for me if you were right!" she added, with slow conviction. "I thought you believed that I was always right," he said, smiling, as he placed the sketches on the table. But she remained very serious. "You are--in everything but that." He made some unimportant reply, and turned the conversation. But she came back to it. "It would be dreadful," she repeated, earnestly, with the utmost gravity in her gray eyes. "I hope the long summer will not tire you," he answered, irrelevantly. "Shall I not have the pleasure of saying good-bye--although that, of course, is not a pleasure--to Mrs.--to your mother?" He should have made the speech in any case, as it was the proper one to make; but as he sat there he had thought that he really would like to have a look at the one guardian this young girl was to have during her long, lonely summer in Rome. "I will tell her. Perhaps when she hears that you are going away she will feel like coming in," said Miss Macks. She came back after some delay, and with her appeared a matron of noticeable aspect. "My mother," she said, introducing her (evidently Noel was never to get the name); "this is Mr. Noel, mother." "And very glad I am to see you, sir, I'm sure," said Mrs. Spurr, extending her hand with much cordiality. "I said to Ettie that I'd come in, seeing as 'twas you, though I don't often see strangers nowadays on account of poor health for a long time past; rheumatism and asthma. But I feel beholden to you, Mr. No-ul, because you've been so good to Ettie. You've been real kind." Ettie's mother was a very portly matron of fifty-five, with a broad face, indistinct features, very high color, and a breathless, panting voice. Her high color--it really was her most noticeable feature--was surmounted by an imposing cap, adorned with large bows of scarlet ribbon; a worsted shawl, of the hue known as "solferino," decked her shoulders; under her low-necked collar reposed a bright blue necktie, its ends embroidered in red and yellow; and her gown was of a vivid dark green. But although her colors swore at each other, she seemed amiable. She was also voluble. Noel, while shaking hands, was considering, mentally, with some retrospective amusement, his condition of mind if this lady had accepted his invitations to visit the galleries.