pipe between his lips. Oddly enough, the group was beautiful. Mr. Beebe, who loved the art of the past, was reminded of a favourite theme, the Santa Conversazione, in which people who care for one another are painted chatting together about noble things — a theme neither sensual nor sensational, and therefore ignored by the art of to-day. Why should Lucy want either to marry or to travel when she had such friends at home?

“Taste not when the wine-cup glistens, Speak not when the people listens,”

she continued.

“Here's Mr. Beebe.”

“Mr. Beebe knows my rude ways.”

“It's a beautiful song and a wise one,” said he. “Go on.”