"I think so," said Linda with unwonted simplicity, and Mr. Fourmy took her hand, stooped over it, and kissed it. René looked at his mother, she at him, and Linda, turning to Mrs. Fourmy, smiled and said: "I am so glad to have come, Mrs. Fourmy. René and I are such friends. We have such great hopes for him and I wanted to see you. Will you take me home, René?" Mr. Fourmy opened the door of the room for her, hurried ahead to open the front door, and with a tremendous dignity, bowed again over Linda's hand, thanked her for coming, and said: "May life be good to you, and very amusing." And Linda answered: "I'd like to buy your picture, Mr. Fourmy. Will you send it to me when it is finished?" "I would rather give it to you." René's horror sent him flying down to the gate. It was a minute or two before Linda came. She was smiling, and Mr. Fourmy had come out on to the doorstep to watch her walk down. René saw his eyes follow her and appreciate her movements, and he became acutely, alarmingly conscious that she also was a woman. He was frightened of her as she came up to him, but he was also angry, and he let fly: "Linda, you can't." "Can't what?" "You can't let my father give you his beastly picture. You didn't seem to mind. I thought you would. I thought you would. He sits all day doing those things over and over again." "Oh, René, don't be silly. I'm older than you." That was the first he had heard of it, and it dashed him. That a man should love, could love a woman older than himself was in flat contradiction to all his notions. He was furious. Linda went on: "Two years older. Twenty years older in experience and knowledge. You think like a silly little boy." In a rage he turned on his heel and left her. But at once a fierce hunger to be with her seized him, to clutch her by the arm as he had clutched her before, and to hurt her more, to feel her soft flesh yielding under his grip. That desire was stronger than his fury, and he ran after her, and caught her up just at the gates of Potter's Park. "I beg your pardon. I beg your pardon. I do beg your pardon. I can't help it. I must be with you." And he seized her arm and rushed her ahead for a few paces until she cried out at the hurt: "René! René! Quiet! Not now! Wait!" She was as excited as he, but not, like him, absorbed in her excitement. It was a delight to her. He released her, and she led him to a seat opposite a bed of Darwin tulips, red and mauve and yellow. He sat by her side trembling, drowning in a flood of savage emotion, thinking not at all. Slowly he became aware of the tulips in front of him, and he said: "The flowers are very pretty." That relaxed the tension he was in, and he stretched out his legs and stared up into the sky, and presently he broke into words: "And the summer sky is beautiful, but not so beautiful as you, and I love you." His arms were folded on his chest, and he seemed to be hardly conscious of his words Then in a calmer voice he said: