He thrust his hand into his waistcoat pocket. In the outstretched palm which he held out to Mr. Major was—half a sovereign! That gentleman stared at the man, and at the coin, in undisguised amazement.
"Hollo, Aldridge!"
"Rather unexpected, isn't it? I thought it would be—borrowed money back from me! Don't apologise, old chap! I've had a stroke of luck—so there you are!"
Mr. Major continued to stare at the coin after the man had gone.
"I say, Gill, this is very queer."
"That's what bothers me. It is uncommon queer."
II.
It was the Tuesday morning afterwards. Mr. Major was at the house in Campden Hill Gardens in the capacity of painting-master. Towards the close of the lesson he asked his pupil a question.
"Have you been to the Academy yet?"
Miss Davidson was in the enjoyment of her own fortune. It may therefore be taken for granted that she was of age. But she was more than that; she was in touch with those teachings of the age which tells us that a young woman can do without a chaperon. Her painting lessons were, as a rule, sacred to herself and her master—which, perhaps, enabled her to better concentrate her mind upon her searchings after art.
