“All winter, and all spring.  Imagine us by a splendid fire in this good fireplace.”

“I hope it won’t smoke on windy days.”  Leaver looked doubtfully at it.  “It strikes me as better photographic material than as practical defence against the cold.”

“I shall demonstrate that it is entirely practical.  And Granny’s little feet will seldom touch the floor.  I have a beautiful foot-warmer for her, which will keep her snug as comfort.”

“I know you have a strong courage, and will face any discomfort bravely.”

His eyes were dwelling upon her face, noting each outline, as if he meant to take the memory of it with him.

“All the courage in the world.  What would life be without it?  With it, one can do anything.”

“I believe you.”  He was silent for a moment, still looking at her intently.  “I wonder,” he said then, “if you would be willing to give me something I very much want.  I have no right to ask it, and yet, for the sake of many pleasant hours we have spent together—­that’s a tame phrase for me to use of them, from my standpoint—­for their sake would you be willing to let me have—­a picture of yourself?  I promise you it shall be seen by no one but myself.  It would mean a good deal to me.  Yet, if you are not entirely willing, I won’t ask it.”

He spoke in the quietest, grave way.  After a moment’s hesitation she answered him as quietly.

“I don’t know why I should mind, Dr. Leaver, and yet, somehow, I find I do.  Will you believe it’s not because I don’t want to please you?”

His face showed, in spite of him, that the denial hurt him.  He held out his hand.

“You are quite right to be frank.  Shall we say good-bye?  All kinds of success to you this winter—­and always.”

“Thank you, Dr. Leaver.  I give you back the wish.”

They shook hands, the two faces smiling at each other.  Then he went quickly away.  Looking after him she saw that he carried his hat in his hand until he had reached the gate in the hedge.  He closed the gate without a backward glance, and in a minute more was out of sight.

She went into her dark-room and examined again the plate she had just developed.  Holding it in a certain light, against darkness, she was able to obtain a faint view of the picture as it would be in the print.  Unquestionably she had made a lifelike and extraordinarily attractive portrait of a man of distinguished features, caught at a moment when he had had no notion that the thing was happening.  She studied it long and attentively.

“It would have been better if I hadn’t made it,” she said slowly to herself.  “For now I shall have it to look at, and I shall have to look at it.  I’m not strong enough—­not strong enough—­I don’t want to be strong enough—­to forego that!”

* * * * *

After nightfall, on that September evening, Leaver took his departure.  Burns was to convey him in the Imp to the city station, because his train did not stop in the suburban village.  For a half-hour before his going Burns’s porch was full, the Macauleys and the Chesters having come over to do Dr. Leaver honour.  They found less chance for talking with him than they might have done if he had not gone off with Miss Mathewson for a short walk.