looked at them a long time trying to find fault with them. Then suddenly she had a shock that made her heart beat. There hung Paul's picture! She knew it as if it were printed on her heart.

`Name--Paul Morel--First Prize.'

It looked so strange, there in public, on the walls of the Castle gallery, where in her lifetime she had seen so many pictures. And she glanced round to see if anyone had noticed her again in front of the same sketch.

But she felt a proud woman. When she met well-dressed ladies going home to the Park, she thought to herself:

`Yes, you look very well--but I wonder if your son has two first prizes in the Castle.'

And she walked on, as proud a little woman as any in Nottingham. And Paul felt he had done something for her, if only a trifle. All his work was hers.

One day, as he was going up Castle Gate, he met Miriam. He had seen her on the Sunday, and had not expected to meet her in town. She was walking with a rather striking woman, blonde, with a sullen expression, and a defiant carriage. It was strange how Miriam, in her bowed, meditative bearing, looked dwarfed beside this woman with the handsome shoulders. Miriam watched Paul searchingly. His gaze was on the stranger, who ignored him. The girl saw his masculine spirit rear its head.

`Hello!' he said, `you didn't tell me you were coming to town.'

`No,' replied Miriam, half apologetically. `I drove in to Cattle Market with father.'

He looked at her companion.

`I've told you about Mrs Dawes,' said Miriam huskily; she was nervous. `Clara, do you know Paul?'

`I think I've seen him before,' replied Mrs Dawes indifferently, as she shook hands with him. She had scornful grey eyes, a skin like white honey, and a full mouth, with a slightly lifted upper lip that did not know whether it was raised in scorn of all men or out of eagerness to be kissed, but which believed the former. She carried her head back, as if she had drawn away in contempt, perhaps from men also. She wore a large, dowdy hat of black beaver, and a sort of slightly affected simple dress that made her look rather sack-like. She was evidently poor, and had not much taste. Miriam usually looked nice.

`Where have you seen me?' Paul asked of the woman.

She looked at him as if she would not trouble to answer. Then:

`Walking with Louie Travers,' she said.

Louie was one of the `spiral' girls.

`Why, do you know her?' he asked.

She did not answer. He turned to Miriam.

`Where are you going?' he asked.

`To the Castle.'

`What train are you going home by?'

`I am driving with father. I wish you could come too. What time are you free?'