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at the pension, it was manifest that here was a possible rival infinitely more to be feared than any "decadent" poet. Whatever else he might be, the new-comer was manly, exhilarating; the type of a healthy Englishman with keen wits, and a ready capacity for using them. His tact was amazing. He never rubbed any one up the wrong way, and his good humour was invincible. He was certainly attractive; Alaric Baring could not deny it. Had it not been for the sharp—too sharp—flash, now and again, in his light grey eyes—a flash which seemed to the American to reveal depths of possible cunning—he would have acknowledged that here was a man whose appearance and manner inspired absolute confidence. It was soon apparent that he had so inspired Miss Shaw. At all events, any one could see that his conversation pleased her. On the day after his arrival, he hired a studio in the same house as the Barings. He had considerable ability as a draughtsman, and opposed Alaric's theories as to the right way of looking at nature courteously, but with touches of a dry humour which delighted Elizabeth. Both the Barings saw with annoyance how much more congenial to her were Mr. George's views on art than their own. More than two months with them had not made her an impressionist. She still resolutely declared that it was not the impression, but the suggestion, of a face or hand which the artists of the new school delivered to one. The suggestion was often admirable, and seen a long, long way off, the effect became lifelike. But was it necessary to look at pictures such a long way off? She preferred the "impression" left by by Titian after his kind, or a Holbein after his. And now,