Shiel Davenport, for it was he, could not resist the temptation of peeping in at the windows; and he saw that the interior of the cottage was artistry and simplicity itself. At the windows, curtains of heavy white jaconet muslin, not too full, hung in sharp parallel plaits to the floor--just to the floor. The walls were papered with French papers of rare delicacy--to match the seasons; (spring, summer, autumn and winter were all most effectively depicted), and the furniture though light, was at the same time costly. And here again was the same effect of arrangement--an arrangement obviously designed by the same brain that had planned the building and grounds. Shiel could not conceive anything more graceful. Flowers--flowers of every hue and odour were the chief decoration of the cottage. On almost every table were vases--in themselves beautiful enough--yet filled to overflowing with the finest roses. Ox-eye daisies, hollyhocks and forget-me-nots clustered about the open windows. And every puff of wind, every breath of air transmitted scent--the most delicious medley of scent imaginable. The young man drew in deep draughts of it; he threw back his head, and, opening his mouth, revelled in the joy of feeling it steal softly down his throat and permeate his lungs. He was thus engaged when the sound of a voice brought him sharply back to earth. In the open doorway of the house, an amused expression in her violet eyes, stood a girl--so wondrously pretty, that at the sight of her Shiel was again overcome, and could only gaze in helpless admiration. "Do you want to see my father?" she inquired. "He is getting ready to go out, but I daresay he will see you first." "I--I am sure he will," the young man replied, "I'm Shiel Davenport. I've come to tell him my uncle died at four o'clock this morning." "Oh, dear!" the girl exclaimed, "I am so sorry--sorry for you, and for my father. I'm sure he will be terribly upset. I'm Gladys Martin, perhaps you've heard of me--I knew your uncle." "Often," Shiel said, "And I think my uncle's description of you an excellent one." "His description of me!" "Yes! he always spoke of you as the Queen of Flowers, and said you had a mania for all things beautiful, which was not surprising, seeing how beautiful you were yourself." "That was very nice of him," Gladys said, looking amused again. "Won't you come in? If you will wait here"--she led him to the drawing-room--"I'll tell my father." She disappeared, and Shiel heard her run lightly up the stairs.