But he did not speak. For from the direction of the house came the sound of a new and quite unexpected voice. It was a thin and acrid voice, obviously barbed with indignation.
"Julia!" was the repeated and reproving cry which echoed through the quietness.
The girl with the rose shears, more childlike than ever, turned a frightened face toward the house. But she did not answer.
"Is that a man in the grounds?" demanded the distant monitorial voice. And Conkling, for the first time, was no longer at his ease.
"Y-yes," the girl called hesitatingly back.
Her face was quite pale, and the meekness in her voice rather disturbed the man at the easel. He peered about for the author of that over-disturbing challenge, but he could see nothing.
"Lavinia," commanded the shrill and mysteriously distant voice—and Conkling
