They whizzed along in silence for some time, and it was only when Ashuelyn was in sight that Cameron suddenly turned and held out his hand: 

“Thank you, Louis; you’ve said some very kind things.”

Neville shrugged:  “I hear you are financing that New Idea Home.  I tell you that’s a fine conception.”

But Cameron only looked modest.  At heart he was a very shy man and he deprecated any idea that he was doing anything unusual in giving most of his time to affairs that paid dividends only in happiness and in the consciousness of moral obligation fulfilled.

The household was occupying the pergola as they arrived and sprang out upon the clipped lawn.

Neville kissed his mother tenderly, shook hands cordially with his father, greeted Lily with a fraternal hug and Stephanie with a firm grasp of both hands.

“How perfectly beautiful it is here!” he exclaimed, looking out over the green valley beyond—­and unconsciously his gaze rested on the Estwich hills, blue and hazy and soft as dimpled velvet.  Out there, somewhere, was Valerie; heart and pulse began to quicken.  Suddenly he became aware that his mother’s eyes were on him, and he turned away toward the south as though there was also something in that point of the compass to interest him.

Gordon Collis, following a hand-cart full of young trees wrapped in burlap, passed across the lawn below and waved a greeting at Neville.

“How are you, Louis!” he called out.  “Don’t you want to help us set these hybrid catalpas?”

“I’ll be along by and by,” he replied, and turned to the group under the pergola who desired to know how it was in town—­the first question always asked by New Yorkers of anybody who has just arrived from that holy spot.

“It’s not too warm,” said Neville; “the Park is charming, most of the houses on Fifth Avenue are closed—­”

“Have you chanced to pass through Tenth Street?” asked his father solemnly.

But Neville confessed that he had not set foot in those sanctified precincts, and his father’s personal interest in Manhattan Island ceased immediately.

They chatted inconsequentially for a while; then, in reply to a question from Stephanie, he spoke of his picture, “A Bride,” and, though it was still unfinished, he showed them a photograph of it.

[Illustration:  “‘It is very beautiful, Louis,’ said his mother, with a smile of pride.”]

The unmounted imprint passed from hand to hand amid various comments.

“It is very beautiful, Louis,” said his mother, with a smile of pride; and even as she spoke the smile faded and her sad eyes rested on him wistfully.

“Is it a sacred picture?” asked his father, examining it through his glasses without the slightest trace of interest.

“It is an Annunciation, isn’t it?” inquired Lily, calmly.  But her heart was failing her, for in the beauty of the exquisite, enraptured face, she saw what might have been the very soul of Valerie West.