Roger’s frown checked him. But only for a moment; then he went on, in an awed undertone: “She’s more of a--a person than anyone I ever saw. If she’d let me I’d be crazy about her. As it is, while I know I can never get her, everything’s stopped short with me until I’m sure she’s out of reach--married to some one else. I’m a better man for having known her, for having loved her.” Roger was standing with arms folded upon his broad chest--powerful arms bare to the elbow. He seemed lost in reverie. “Thank you for showing me that,” said Peter gratefully and humbly. “I’d wish to own it if it wasn’t that--well, I’d never be able to get any peace of mind if I had it about. I’d stare at it till I went crazy.” Roger flushed a significant, a guilty deep red. Peter got himself together with a shake of his big frame. “I’m off, now. You’ll not say anything about my having called--not to her or anyone?” “I do not see anyone,” said Roger in a constrained voice. “But you’ll surely--” began Peter, but he halted on the threshold of impertinence. “Well--I hope you’ll look in at the Wolcott and cheer her up. Good-by. Thank you again.” The young men shook hands with the friendliness of intimacy. Roger went with Peter to the door, where they shook hands again. As Peter was turning away he happened to glance down into the woods to the left. There, beating a hasty, not to say undignified retreat, was Daniel Richmond! “Now what do you think of that?” cried Peter. “What the devil is _he_ doing here?” “I’m sure I don’t know,” said Roger indifferently. “No doubt he recognized me,” Peter went on. “He’s got me scared to a panic--for fear he’ll half ruin me--just out of a general insanity of meanness. If he asks you what I was doing here say I came to buy the picture. You don’t know how much trouble he could make for me.” “I’ll probably not see him.” “Do--for her sake, do,” urged Peter. “Be civil to him. Try to soften him down. You ought to do it for her--honest, you ought.” “That’s true,” said Roger gravely. Peter departed. Roger stayed on in the doorway. Presently Richmond reappeared, making his way slowly up the steep toward the studio. He arrived much out of breath, but contrived to put unmistakable politeness into his jerky tones as he gasped: “Good afternoon, Mr. Wade.” “How d’ye do, Mr. Richmond?” was Roger’s civil rejoinder. His talk with Peter had put him in a frame of mind to bear and forbear, to do whatever he could toward ending the quarrel between father and daughter. “I’d be greatly obliged--for a few--minutes of your time,” said Richmond between breaths.