We leave, just as we have planned, on the last day of April. /y 1/ Richards stay is complete. My uncles prints are mounted and bound: he takes me to view them, as a sort of treat.

Fine work, he says. You think, Maud? Hmm?

Yes, sir.

Do you look?

Yes, Uncle.

Yes. Fine work. I believe I shall send for Hawtrey and Huss. I shall have them come—next week? What do you say? Shall we make an occasion of it?

I do not answer. I am thinking of the dining-room, the drawing-room—and me, in some other shadowy place, far off. He turns to Richard.

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