“But tell me,” asked Laura, “you never speak of yourself, what have you been doing since you went away?”

“Nothing. Merely idling, and painting a little, and studying some thirteenth-century glass in Avignon and Sienna.”

“And shall you go back?”

“Yes, I think so, in about a month. So soon as I have straightened out some little businesses of mine⁠—which puts me in mind,” he said, glancing at his watch, “that I have an appointment at eleven, and should be about it.”

He said goodbye and left her, and Laura cantered homeward in high spirits. She was very glad that Corthell had come back. She had always liked him. He not only talked well himself, but seemed to have the faculty of making her do the same. She remembered that in the old days, before she had met Jadwin, her mind and conversation, for undiscoverable reasons, had never been nimbler, quicker, nor more effective than when in the company of the artist.