"We must apologise for our intrusion, Miss Clare,"--he said--"But happening to pass your house, we could not resist making an attempt to see you. My name is----Rimânez"--he hesitated oddly for a second, then went on--"and this is my friend Mr Geoffrey Tempest, the author,----" the young lady raised her eyes to mine with a little smile and courteous bend of her head--"he has, as I daresay you know, become the owner of Willowsmere Court. You will be neighbours, and I hope, friends. In any case if we have committed a breach of etiquette in venturing to call upon you without previous introduction, you must try and forgive us! It is difficult,--to me impossible,--to pass the dwelling of a celebrity without offering homage to the presiding genius within." Mavis Clare,--for it was Mavis Clare,--seemed not to have heard the intended compliment. "You are very welcome," she said simply, advancing with a pretty grace, and extending her hand to each of us in turn, "I am quite accustomed to visits from strangers. But I already know Mr Tempest very well by reputation. Won't you sit down?" She motioned us to chairs in the lily-decked window-corner, and rang the bell. Her maid appeared. "Tea, Janet." This order given, she seated herself near us, still holding her little dog curled up against her like a small ball of silk. I tried to converse, but could find nothing suitable to say,--the sight of her filled me with too great a sense of self-reproach and shame. She was such a quiet graceful creature, so slight and dainty, so perfectly unaffected and simple in manner, that as I thought of the slaughtering article I had written against her work I felt like a low brute who had been stoning a child. And yet,--after all it was her genius I hated,--the force and passion of that mystic quality which wherever it appears, compels the world's attention,--this was the gift she had that I lacked and coveted. Moved by the most conflicting sensations I gazed abstractedly out on the shady old garden,--I heard Lucio conversing on trifling matters of society and literature generally, and every now and then her bright laugh rang out like a little peal of bells. Soon I felt, rather than saw, that she was looking steadily at me,--and turning, I met her eyes,--deep dense blue eyes, candidly grave and clear. "Is this your first visit to Willowsmere Court?" she asked. "Yes," I answered, making an effort to appear more at my ease--"I bought the place,--on the recommendation of my friend the prince here,--without looking at it." "So I heard,"--she said, still observing me curiously--"And you are satisfied with it?" "More than satisfied--I am delighted. It exceeds all my best expectations." "Mr Tempest is going to marry the daughter of the former owner of Willowsmere,"--put in Lucio,--"No doubt you have seen it announced in the papers?"