It is a pleasant thing on a beautiful day to drive through Surrey lanes, with a fine pair of horses in front and a liveried menial with folded arms on the seat behind. Barney, who knew the country well, chose the by-roads rather than the main thoroughfares; for he had a keen love of nature and an appreciation of landscape, as became a man who had placed on canvas so many amazing reproductions of natural scenery.

As he neared his destination he turned into the particular lane which he knew to be Lady Mary’s favourite walk, and he kept a sharp look-out ahead, hoping to descry the girl in the distance. He also looked at his watch, and slowed the horses when he saw he had arrived at the head of the lane somewhat in advance of the time he had set for himself. Barney was, above all things, a practical man, and he knew that, outside the drama, coincidences rarely happened unless they were touched up a bit; so before leaving Chelsea he took the precaution to telegraph Lady Mary, telling her that at a certain hour he would be at the head of the lane, and that if he met there any one who lived in the neighbourhood who would extend to him a cordial invitation to visit a certain country house, he would accept with all the heartfelt gratitude of a homeless man perambulating the country with two horses and a wagon. It was one of Barney’s habits rarely to write a letter, and to depend almost entirely on the telegraph as a means of communication with his fellows. He delighted in sending a friend a ten-page telegram on some perfectly trivial subject, and to the numerous people all over the country who now wrote to him asking for his autograph, he invariably sent it in a long telegram, explaining in the message that, as he never wrote letters, any signature of his at the end of an epistle was sure to be a forgery, and no autographs were genuine unless they came by wire. Barney’s electrical autographs now bring good prices at auction sales.

As he entered the lane, then, he looked ahead for the fulfilment of the coincidence he had arranged; and was presently rewarded by seeing the fine figure of the girl coming towards him, an ebony stick in her hand, and three big dogs following her. Barney threw the reins to his man, told him to drive on, and sprang down.

The girl’s cheeks were as rosy as the dawn, either with the exercise in the pure air or the pleasure of meeting him.

After greeting her, he cried:

“You got my telegram, then?”

“Yes. Have you any money left after sending it?”

“Oh, I’m in funds to-day. I sold a picture for a thousand pounds yesterday to a Chicago man. They know how to buy, those Western fellows! He took one of the burnt-umber night scenes, made me sign my name on it in scarlet with letters three inches long, and then told me with a chuckle, after it was done, that he would have given a couple of hundred extra for the signature if I had held out. Thus are we poor artists imposed upon! Still, the scarlet lettering completely killed the half-tones in the painting, and ruined it, in my opinion; but he said it was the signature he wanted, so we are both satisfied. He was a perfectly frank heathen: said he could buy better paintings in Chicago for five dollars each, with a discount off if he took a quantity, but that people over there wouldn’t have the work of the native artists at any price. He proudly claimed to know nothing about art himself—tinned goods was his line. I said I supposed that was all right as long as the goods brought in the tin, and he replied that that was what he was after.”

“Well, I’m sure I congratulate you.”

“Me? Now, Lady Mary, I call that hard lines. I thought you were a friend of mine—I did, indeed.”

“I am. May I not congratulate you on selling a picture?”

“No, your ladyship; no, m’um! But you might congratulate the Chicago man. I feel that he did me out of two hundred. Oh, he’s got a bargain, and he knows it! I tell you what it is, my pictures are getting so expensive that I am beginning to realize it is reckless extravagance for me to have so many of them hanging in my studio. It looks like ostentation, and I hate that. That’s why I took the thousand, merely to get rid of it.”

“Did it take you long to paint?”

“Yes, a good while. Of course I can’t tell just how long, for one does not do a masterpiece like that right off the reel, don’t you know. I suppose I must have spent as much as six hours on it, off and on. You see you have to wait until the groundwork dries before you can go on with the rest. I first, with a big brush, covered the whole of the canvas with burnt-umber, and then let it dry. That’s night, as it would appear if there were no lights anywhere. Then you put in your high lights—little dabs of white paint. That seems easy, but I tell you it requires genius. Then, if there is water, even though unseen to the general eye, you put in little wabbly lines of grey paint under the dots of high light, and there you are, don’t you know. It all seems simple enough to talk about, and plenty of fellows are trying it, now I have shown them the way; but somehow they don’t hit it off, don’t you know. But sink the shop in a Surrey lane; I hate talking shop, anyhow! Now, am I going to get my invitation, or am I not?”

“Of course you are. My father is most anxious to meet you.”

“That’s very nice of him. But, I say, Lady Mary——”

The young man stopped suddenly, and the girl looked up at him. She read in his eyes such honest, undisguised admiration of herself, that she dropped her own and blushed still more rosily.

“What is it?” she asked. “Have you forgotten something?”

“No,” he said eagerly, taking the unresisting fingers of her two hands in his, as they stood there. “No, I have just remembered. I ought to have something to say to your father, don’t you know. We can’t talk about painting, and——well, Mary, we should have some topic of vital interest to us both to discuss, shouldn’t we?”

The girl laughed a little, but did not reply. The three dogs stood some distance off, regarding the pair with suspicion; and a low growl from one of them indicated that the situation was unusual and must not be carried too far.

“What shall I say to him, Mary?” cried the young man, with a tender thrill in his deep voice. “May I tell him I care more for his daughter than for any one else in the world? May I?”

The girl made no attempt to withdraw her hands, nor did she do more than give him one swift, brief glance.

“If it is true,” she murmured, “I see no reason why you should not tell him so.”

“True!” cried Barney, fervently. “There’s nothing on earth so true, Mary, my darling, as that I love you! And do you—do you care in the least for a big blundering fellow like me?”

“Always, always!” said Lady Mary. “Ever since I first met you. And long before the world recognized your genius, Barney, I did.”

The jubilant young man, suddenly abandoning the hands that were thus promised him, clasped the girl to him and kissed her. It is a remarkable thing that a man often attains celebrity for doing something that hundreds of others do better, while the world remains ignorant of performances that are really entitled to fame. As Barney threw one arm around Lady Mary’s waist, he saw, out of the corner of his eye, the big dog spring at his throat. Yet the young man kissed the girl as tenderly and as gently as if nothing particular were happening on the other side of him; and Lady Mary, closing her eyes for the moment, rested her head against his breast and breathed a deep sigh of contentment. She was awakened from her momentary dream by savage, mouthing growls, and, remembering the dogs, jumped back in alarm. With rigid muscles Barney held at arm’s length, his strong hand grasping the collar, a brute only slightly smaller than a pony, whose angry fangs were tearing at his coat-sleeve. The other two dogs looked on, snarling, but apparently waiting for their mistress to give the word of attack. The girl shrieked at the sight.

“Down, Nero, down!” she cried. “How dare you, sir!”

“Oh, it’s all right,” said Barney, nonchalantly. “Don’t scold him. ’Tis his nature to, don’t you know. He’ll find out two things in about a minute: first, and most important, that I’m going to be one of the family; and second, that he’s met his match. I say, Mary, this wouldn’t be a bad scene for the Aquarium, don’t you know,—Sampson defying the lightning, or was it Ajax? I never can remember those classical allusions.”

“Down, sir!” commanded the girl. “Come here and apologize!”

Barney relaxed his grasp on the collar, and the huge dog cringed up to Lady Mary with a most crestfallen air. It was evident that, although he deferred to his mistress’s authority, he was still unshaken in his opinion that such goings on as he had just beheld were entirely out of order; and although he humbly licked the girl’s hand, he cast side looks at Barney that were anything but friendly, yet the truculent glance was mitigated by that respect for proven strength which one strong animal feels when he meets a stronger. The girl, crouching, patted his shaggy coat, and, alternately scolding and petting him, explained the situation as well as she could, beseeching Nero to treat Barney as a brother.

When she stood up again—blessed are the peacemakers!—Barney said:

“Let’s see if he understands?”

“Now, Barney,” cried the girl, “you must behave yourself! You can’t tell who might come into view any moment.”

“We’ll risk the chance comer—purely for the dog’s benefit, you know, Mary.”

The big dog made no move this time; but his angry eye lighted up with a dangerous lurid gleam, and the corners of his heavy lips quivered, showing the teeth.

“Oh, it’s a case of pure jealousy,” said Barney. “I can see that. Nero and I never can be friends.” They walked together slowly along the lane, the dogs in front. Nero seemed exceedingly dejected, and strode with offended dignity, taking little notice of the other two dogs; who, with a levity that met his sullen disapproval, indicated now and then by deep, low growls of rebuke, futilely chased imaginary rabbits by the hedge-rows, tumbling over each other in their frivolous, headlong career.

“Do you know, Mary, I think we should join hands and swing our arms as we walk along. I want to shout and whoop like a red Indian—and yet calm reflection tells me it isn’t good form. I believe I’m hopelessly plebeian, and yearn for a Whitechapel expression of my happiness. If I weren’t afraid of the dog—that is, morally afraid, for I can throttle him physically—I’d pull the pin out of that most fetching hat of yours, and put the hat on my own head, giving you mine. Actually, I’d like to dance, don’t you know!”

The girl laughed.

“I shouldn’t mind a dance myself,” she said.

“Oh, then it’s all right! I was beginning to fear I had a costermonger for my ancestor; but, if you’re not shocked, I may, for all I know, be descended from the Conqueror.”

“Well, if you want to shout, do it now; for I want you to be very circumspect and proper when we walk up the avenue.”

Barney did not shout, but he placed his arm around her, and——and felt it was most delightful to be thus taken in charge and told how to behave.