table until she descended in quest of it. But Isobel’s femininity detected sentiment amid the fragrant scent of the delicate blossoms, and the vulgar side of her nature was all on the alert. No doubt she expected Miss Erskine to be equally excited and curious with herself, but Miss Erskine was not in the habit of gratifying other people at her own expense. She was standing in front of her easel roughly sketching with a piece of charcoal when Isobel bounced into the room, and only paused in her occupation to give a very casual glance at the flowers, and to evince some surprise at sight of them, and still more at having them brought up.

“One would think that I was a first floor lodger,” she exclaimed, turning back to her work again, “instead of merely the attics. You’ll be charging me for attendance soon, Isobel, if it goes on at this rate. Put it down on the table, please.”

Isobel looked distinctly disappointed.

“But you ain’t looked at ’em yet,” she said.

“I’ve seen flowers before,” Jill answered.

“They look very pretty and smell nice; but they’ll soon die in this turpentine atmosphere.”

“Then you can keep the barskit,” giggled the other. “I expect ’e thought o’ that; ’e aint so green as I took ’im to be. Fancy you ’avin’ a young man, Miss Herskine!”

Jill did look round then, and her glance was withering in the extreme.

“Explain your meaning, please,” she said. “I don’t understand jests like those.”

“It aint no jest,” replied Isobel somewhat abashed but grinning still despite the snub. “I didn’t mean no ’arm neither, only,” edging toward the door and preparing for flight, “when a gent takes to sendin’ flowers it’s like when the lodgers begins complainin’ o’ the charges—the beginnin’ of the hend, so to speak.”

The studio door slammed on her retreating figure, and her footsteps could be heard asserting themselves triumphantly in her descent—verily some people are born to make a noise in the world! Jill listened to them until they reached the next landing, then she laid down her charcoal and approached the table. For a minute she stood motionless regarding the flowers, then she smiled a little and bending forward drew out from among them a card though she hardly needed that to tell her from whom they came. “With Saint John’s compliments,” she read, and the smile on her 

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