Miss Forrest curled her pretty lip, but, nothing daunted, resolved to effect her purpose, and sought the purchaser at his hotel. She was ushered into a private drawing-room, where, on a handsome easel, stood the newly acquired purchase. Mr. Potter was out, “but would return in a moment.” Miss Forrest was relieved, for, alone and undisturbed, she could now let her full soul go out to her romantic creation. As she stood there, she felt the glamour of the old English garden come back to her, the play of light and shadow, the silent pool, the godlike face and bust, with its cast-down, meditative eyes, seen through the parted reeds. She clasped her hands silently before her. Should she never see it again as then? “Pray don't let me disturb you; but won't you take a seat?” Miss Forrest turned sharply round. Then she started, uttered a frightened little cry, and fainted away. Mr. Potter was touched, but a master of himself. As she came to, he said quietly: “I came upon you suddenly--as you stood entranced by this picture--just as I did when I first saw it. That's why I bought it. Are you any relative of the Miss Forrest who painted it?” he continued, quietly looking at her card, which he held in his hand. Miss Forrest recovered herself sufficiently to reply, and stated her business with some dignity. “Ah,” said Mr. Potter, “THAT is another question. You see, the picture has a special value to me, as I once saw an old-fashioned garden like that in England. But that chap there,--I beg your pardon, I mean that figure,--I fancy, is your own creation, entirely. However, I'll think over your proposition, and if you will allow me I'll call and see you about it.” Mr. Potter did call--not once, but many times--and showed quite a remarkable interest in Miss Forrest's art. The question of the sale of the picture, however, remained in abeyance. A few weeks later, after a longer call than usual, Mr. Potter said:-- “Don't you think the best thing we can do is to make a kind of compromise, and let us own the picture together?” And they did. A ROMANCE OF THE LINE