“My dear young lady,” I cried with real exasperation, “I am a working man, and this is a working summer for me!”
“Do you think I’d spoil it?” she urged gently.
“But I get up with the first daylight to paint,” I protested, “and I paint all day—”
She moved a step nearer me and laid her hand warningly upon my sleeve, checking the outburst.
I turned to see what she meant.
Oliver Saffren had come in from the road and was crossing to the gallery steps. He lifted his hat and gave me a quick word of greeting as he passed, and at the sight of his flushed and happy face my riddle was solved for me. Amazing as the thing was, I had no doubt of the revelation.
“Ah,” I said to Miss Elliott when he had gone, “I won’t have to take pupils to get the answer to my question, now!”