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the flexible grace that comes from training and habit; while ten years of study and art had stamped a fairer inscription on her mobile face and expression. Campbell would hardly have recognized her. The shining knot of hair under her neat hat, the calm superiority of her London habit, the pose of her head, the indefinable grace of manner and harmony of voice—all gave him a new and interesting impression. He felt pleased, too, that he had discerned something of her promise in former days, and he said to himself that this renewal of friendship would be an agreeable interlude in his visit. Alice would understand him, and play Mozart, and talk music and art as of old. He should not want any other companion for the time, and, much as he admired Mrs. Austin’s beauty, he confessed to himself that one might have too much of a good thing. One never seemed to have too much of Alice Lauder. In fact, that was her great charm, and it was very pleasant to be together again. He had never met any other girl quite like her in all his wanderings, and she interested him—not in the least because she satisfied his ideal, but because of the impression of something bright and distinctive in her quality, some indefinable native touch of character, which had never quite faded from his memory. Above all, she was