He looked out of the window. It was raining--a chilly spring shower--but there was a stir in the air, a rattle in the town, a sense of something that was going to happen; summer was not far off, and in the summer, at the end of the season, they would go down to the Green Gate, the lovely country house with the dream garden as Valentia called it, all built, planted, and arranged on purpose for her. Valentia was more herself at the Green Gate than anywhere else. Leisure suited her, and roses. Every year Romer silently counted the weeks until they went back there. It was where he was happiest. Of course, they were not alone. Dear little Daphne was always with them, dear little thing (she was nearly six feet high)--and other people, very often, and Harry--always Harry. Perhaps Daphne would marry soon, but what about Harry? Romer felt rather wearied when he remembered Valentia had said Harry was made to be a bachelor. Was he tired of Harry? Not a bit! Harry was a capital chap; besides, he didn't see so very much of him in London. Heaps of people admired Valentia, and that did not annoy Romer at all (though it did not please him particularly), but he knew, again subconsciously, that Valentia cared less than nothing for any admirers, but she certainly was awfully fond of Harry. And no wonder! Harry was the best fellow in the world--lively, amusing, quite a brilliant talker; kind, good natured, and he appreciated Valentia, or he could not have painted that portrait.... Round and round the same thoughts passed through his brain. It was raining--a chilly spring shower. Had Valentia got her wrap with her? He got up, went into the hall, and saw her fur cloak hanging on a peg. She evidently didn't care for it. She was tired of it--perhaps it was out of fashion; if so, she would never wear it. She might catch cold. He was not a prompt man, but he went at once to the telephone and gave orders to a shop in Bond Street that would result in a collection of fur-lined cloaks being sent for her choice that evening. This would please her; she would smile and try them on. Besides, it would prevent her catching cold. CHAPTER VI HARRY'S ENTERTAINMENT Van Buren, who was a business man, was an idealist; while Harry de Freyne, the artist--was, emphatically, not.