Jack rose and knocked out his pipe. "The Fates are unkind," he said. "You call me in to tea just when I've lit my pipe, and then go and blame me for not finding the tennis-ball, which you told me was not worth while looking for." "I didn't know it was in the gutter," she said. "I thought it had gone into the flower-beds." "Nor did I know it was in the gutter, or I should have looked for it there." Margery laughed. "I wish you were stopping on longer," she said, "and not going to-morrow. Surely you needn't go?" "You are too kind, but the Fates are still unkind," he said. "I have already put it off a week, during which time my brother has been languishing alone at New Quay." "To New Quay? I didn't know you were going there. Frank and I know New Quay very well." Frank was in the drawing-room when they went in, giving orders that the studio should be thoroughly swept out and dusted that evening. "I'm going to begin painting to-morrow," he announced, abruptly, to the others as they came in. Margery turned to Jack. "No more tennis for me unless you stop," she said. "Have you ever been with us when Frank is painting? I see nothing of him all day, and he gobbles his meals and scowls at the butler." The footman came in again with the tea-things. "And take that big looking-glass out of the spare bedroom," said Frank to him, "and put it in the studio." "What do you want a looking-glass for?" asked his wife, as the man left the room. Frank got up, and walked restlessly up and down. "I begin to-morrow," he said; "I've got the idea ready. I can see it. Until then it is no use trying to paint; but when that comes, it is no use not trying." "But what's the looking-glass for?" repeated Margery. "Ah, yes, I haven't told you. I'm going to paint a portrait of myself." "That's my advice," observed Margery. "I've often suggested that to you, haven't I, Frank?" "You have. I wonder if you did wisely? This afternoon, however, other things suggested it to me." "Have you been meditating?" asked Jack, sympathetically. "I've been meditating all afternoon. Why didn't you come out, as you said you would, and meditate with me?" "I had a little private meditation of my own," said Frank. "It demanded solitude." "Is it bills?" asked Margery. "You know, dear, I told you that you'd be sorry for paying a hundred guineas for that horse." Frank laughed. "No, it's not bills--at least, not bills that make demands of cash. Give me some tea, Margy."