He took it for granted that, if a girl did not draw, she must needs play the piano. But her next words undeceived him. "No, I can't play. I have no accomplishments." "What do you mean by accomplishments?" asked Vivian, smiling. "I mean that I know nothing about French and German, or music and drawing," said Elizabeth, calmly. "I never had any systematic education. I should make rather a good housemaid, I believe, but my friends won't allow me to take a housemaid's situation." "I should think not," ejaculated Vivian. "But it is all that I am fit for," she continued, quietly. "And I think it is rather a pity that I am not allowed to be happy in my own way." There was a little silence. Vivian felt himself scarcely equal to the occasion. Presently she said, with more quickness of speech than usual:-- "You have been in Scotland lately, have you not?" "I was there a short time ago, but for two days only." "Ah, yes, you went to Netherglen?" "I did. The Luttrells are connections of yours, are they not, Miss Murray?" "Very distant ones," said Elizabeth. "You know that Brian Luttrell has gone abroad?" "I have heard so." There was very little to be got out of Miss Murray. Vivian was almost glad when Percival joined them, and he was able to slip back to Kitty, with whom he had no difficulty in carrying on a conversation. The studio was dimly lighted, and Percival, either by accident or design, allowed the curtain to fall entirely over the aperture between the two rooms. He looked round him. Mr. Heron was absent, and they had the room to themselves. Several unfinished canvasses were leaning against the walls; the portrait of an exceedingly cadaverous-looking old man was conspicuous upon the artist's easel; the lay figure was draped like a monk, and had a cowl drawn over its stiff, wooden head. Percival shrugged his shoulders. "My father's studio isn't an attractive-looking place," he said, with a growl of disgust in his voice. "Why did you come into it?" said Elizabeth. "I had a good reason," he answered, looking at her. If she understood the meaning that he wished to convey, it certainly did not embarrass or distress her in the least. She gave him a very friendly, but serious, kind of smile, and went on calmly with her work of sorting the papers and sketches that lay scattered around her. "Elizabeth," he said, "I am offended with you." "That happens so often," she replied, "that I am never greatly surprised nor greatly concerned at hearing it." "It is of little consequence to you, no doubt," said Percival, rather huffily; "but I am--for once--perfectly serious, Elizabeth. Why could you not come down to dinner to-night when Rupert and I were here?" "I very seldom come down to dinner. I was with the children." "The children are not your business."