I.

General Wyatt and Mrs. Wyatt.

In the parlour stands an easel with a canvas of inordinate dimensions upon it, and near this a small table, with a fresh box of colours in tubes, and a holiday outfit of new brushes, pallet, and other artist's materials, evidently not the property of Bartlett. Across the room from this apparatus is stretched Constance's easy-chair, towards which General Wyatt, bearing some marks of his recent accident in a bandaged wrist and a stiff leg, stumps heavily, supported by Mrs. Wyatt. Beside this chair is the centre-table of the parlour, on which are an open box of cigars, and a pile of unopened newspapers.

General Wyatt, dropping into the chair with a groan.—"Well, my dear! I feel uncommonly ashamed of myself, taking Constance's chair in this manner. Though there's a great consolation in thinking she doesn't need it any longer." Settling himself more comfortably in the chair, and laying his stick across his knees: "Margaret, I begin to be very happy about Constance. I haven't had so light a heart for many a long day. The last month has made a wonderful change in her. She is almost like her old self again."

Mrs. Wyatt, sighing.—"Yes, it seems almost too good to be true. I don't know quite what to make of it. Sometimes, I almost fear for her mind. I'm sure that half the time she forgets that Mr. Bartlett isn't that wretch, and I can see her awake with a start to the reality every little while, and then wilfully lull her consciousness to sleep again. He's terribly like. I can hardly keep from crying out at times; and yesterday I did give way: I was so ashamed, and he looked so hurt. I see Constance restrain herself often, and I dare say there are times that we don't know of when she doesn't."

General Wyatt.—"Well, all that may be. But it's a thing that will right itself in time. We must do our best not to worry him. This painter is a fine fellow, my dear. I took a great fancy to him at the beginning. I liked him from the moment I saw him."

Mrs. Wyatt.—"James! You were going to strike him with your cane."

General Wyatt.—"That was before I saw him. I was going to strike the other one. But that's neither here nor there. We must be careful not to hurt his feelings; that's all. We've got our Constance back again, Margaret. Impossible as it seems, we have got her back by his help. Isn't it wonderful to see that killing weight lifted from her young life? It's like a miracle."

Mrs. Wyatt.—"It isn't lifted all the time, James."

General Wyatt.—"No matter—no matter. It isn't crushing her all the time either. I'm glad for what relief there is, and I feel that all is going well. Do you hear that step, Margaret? Listen! That's like the old bounding tread of our little girl. Where is the leaden-footed phantom that used to drag along that hall? Is she coming this way?"

Mrs. Wyatt, listening.—"No, she is going to our rooms. Has Mr. Bartlett been here yet?"

General Wyatt.—"Not yet. He was to come when he got back from his sketching. What a good fellow, to take so much trouble for Constance's amusement! It was uncommonly kind of Mr. Bartlett, Margaret, offering to give her these lessons."

Mrs. Wyatt.—"Yes, it worries me."

General Wyatt.—"Why in the world should it worry you, Margaret?"

Mrs. Wyatt.—"You can't offer him any compensation for his instructions."

General Wyatt.—"Of course not. That would be offensive. Well?"

Mrs. Wyatt.—"Well, James, can't you see how it complicates everything? He is conferring another obligation. He might almost think we tried to throw them together."

General Wyatt, fiercely.—"He had better not! Why, Margaret, he's a gentleman! He can't think that."

Mrs. Wyatt.—"No, I suppose not. I suppose it's our trouble that has made me suspicious of every one." She goes sadly about the room, rearranging, with a house-keeper's instinct, everything in it.

General Wyatt.—"You needn't trouble yourself with the room, Margaret; Mary told me that she and the landlady had put it in order."

Mrs. Wyatt.—"That's just why I need." After a moment: "Are you going to be here, James?"

General Wyatt.—"Yes, I thought I should stay. It's a cheerful place to read and smoke. It won't disturb them, will it?"

Mrs. Wyatt.—"Oh, no! It's quite necessary some one should stay. I'm very glad you can, for I've got a few little things to do."

General Wyatt.—"All right. I'll stay and do the dragon, or whatever it is. But I wish you hadn't put it in that light, Margaret. I was proposing to enjoy myself."

Mrs. Wyatt.—"Enjoy yourself, James? With such a terribly perplexing affair before you!"

General Wyatt.—"I don't see anything perplexing about it. It's perfectly simple, to my mind. Mr. Bartlett kindly proposes to give Constance a few lessons in drawing,—or painting; I don't know which it is. That's the beginning and the end of it."

Mrs. Wyatt, with a heavy sigh.—"Yes, that's the beginning."

General Wyatt, impatiently.—"Well?"

Mrs. Wyatt.—"Nothing. Are you quite comfortable, here? Have you got everything you wish?"

General Wyatt, with a glance at the things on the table at his elbow.—"Here are my cigars, and—yes, here are the papers. Yes, I'm all right. But what do you mean by 'nothing'? What—Ah, here's Mr. Bartlett!" As Bartlett comes into the room, the General, since he cannot conveniently rise, makes a demonstration of welcome with his hands. Bartlett has his colour-box under his arm, and a canvas in his hand. "You've been improving the shining hour, I see. What have you there?"