“Forty--thousand--a year! That’s _very_ good.” And her face revealed that her brain was busy and what it was busy about. He laughed loudly. “Forty thousand a _year_!” he cried. “No--_two_ thousand a year.” Her chagrin was pitiful. “Oh!” she exclaimed dismally. “I thought you said you were rich.” “And I am. Why, when I think of how I used to live on less than two thousand francs a year I feel like a Rothschild.” He tried to keep his face and his tone serious as he added: “What’s the matter? Why do you look so woe-begone?” “Nothing. Only-- You gave me such a shock! For a minute I thought you were--were different.” He took advantage of her mournful abstraction to slip back to his work. So absorbed was she that she did not observe how he was “cheating” her, though all his other attempts to do it had been promptly detected and stopped. From time to time he looked at her and puzzled over the cause of her deep gloom. Finally he decided to interrupt. A mischievous look came into his eyes. He said: “You thought of transferring yourself from that other rich man?” She was overwhelmed with embarrassment. Then she met his laughing eyes with a brave attempt at mockery. “Well--I’d rather marry a rich man I liked than one I didn’t.” “Naturally. But forget about me, please. I’m not a candidate, remember.” He was glad of this chance to remind her of his views as to marriage. “Never fear,” said she, forcing a laugh and a look of coquettish scorn. “We’re equally safe from each other.” * * * * * On the eighth morning it began to drizzle at dawn, and by the time artist and model should have been at work a heavy, cold rain was falling. However, Chang in his waterproofs walked down to the lake shore. He had to take a walk--he always took a walk--no matter what the weather; why not in that direction? As he drew near the cascade he was amazed to see the canoe beached in the usual place. And there, huddled under a tree, as doleful as the shivering birds, stood Rix. He hesitated, started quietly back the way he had come. “No,” said he to himself, “she might catch sight of me. Then she’d be offended--and what would become of my picture?” So he turned about--in obedience to these counsels of calm and unprejudiced good sense. “What are you doing here?” he demanded with friendly severity as he came forward. “You’ll catch your death of cold.” At sound of his voice her drooping form straightened ecstatically. At sight of him, looking more tremendous than ever in the big waterproofs, she gave a smile like a sunburst. “You’re _frightfully_ late!” she reproached. “Late! We can’t work to-day.” “You didn’t tell me not to come if it rained,” said she, with a convincing air of innocence. “And--I didn’t want to lose a day’s pay.” He was still frowning. “I came very near not coming at all,” said he. “It was by the merest accident that I took my walk in this direction.” “But--you did,” said she slyly.