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"And you had to leave—why?" asked Miles.
"I was needed here, at home," she answered. "There!" She put down her brush and arose. "I mustn't touch it again. It's finished."
Miles arose and went to the easel. After a moment he turned to find her eyes on him anxiously.
"Oh, I like it immensely," he said, smilingly, answering her unspoken question. "But, as you know, I'm no judge. Like a multitude of other benighted souls, I only 'know what I like.' And I like that. But you haven't quite finished it, have you? Don't you usually sign them?"
She smiled, dipped a small brush in the paint, and, stooping, printed "P. Lynde" in a lower corner.
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"'P. Lynde,'" said Miles. "Now
I wonder what that P. stands for."
