The expression of her face had greatly altered. The old direct, wide glance was gone; gone also what he had called her over-confidence; she looked much older. On the other hand, there was more grace in her bearing, more comprehension of life in her voice and eyes. She was dressed as plainly as before; but everything, including the arrangement of her hair, was in the prevalent style. She did not speak of her school, and therefore he did not. But after a while he asked how the painting came on. Her face changed a little; but it was more in the direction of a greater calm than hesitation or emotion. "I am not painting now," she answered. "You have given it up temporarily?" "Permanently." "Ah--isn't that rather a pity?" She looked at him, and a gleam of scorn filtered into the glance. "You know it is not a pity," she said. He was a little disgusted at the scorn. Of course, the only ground for him to take was the ground upon which she stood when he last saw her; at that time she proposed to pass her life in painting, and it was but good manners for him to accept her intentions as she had presented them. "I never assumed to be a judge, you know," he answered. "When I last had the pleasure of seeing you, painting was, you remember, your cherished occupation!" "When you last had the pleasure of seeing me, Mr. Noel," said Miss Macks, still with unmoved calm, "I was a fool." Did she wish to go into the subject at length? Or was that merely an exclamation? "When I last had the pleasure of seeing you, you were taking lessons of Mr. Jackson," he said, to give a practical turn to the conversation. "Is he still here? How is he?" "He is very well, now. He is dead." (She was going to be dramatic then, in any case.) He expressed his regret, and it was a sincere one; he had always liked and respected the honest, morose Englishman. He asked a question or two. Miss Macks replied that he had died here in the street of the Hyacinth--in the next room. He had fallen ill during the autumn following Noel's departure, and when his illness grew serious, they--her mother and herself--had persuaded him to come to them. He had lived a month longer, and died peacefully on Christmas Eve. "He was one of the most honest men I ever knew," said Noel. Then, as she did not reply, he ventured this: "That was the reason I recommended him when you asked me to select a teacher for you." "Your plan was made useless by an unfortunate circumstance," she answered, with an evident effort. "A circumstance?" "Yes; he fell in love with me. If I did not consider his pure, deep, and devoted affection the greatest honor of my life I would not mention it. I tell you because it will explain to you his course."