At breakfast, the next morning, Conrad Lagrange reopened the conversation he had so abruptly closed the night before.

"I suppose," he said, "that you will set up a studio, and do the thing in proper style ?" "Mrs.Taine told me of a place that is for rent, and that she thinks would be just the thing," returned the young man.

"It is across the road from that big grove owned by Mr.Taine.I was wondering if you would care to walk out that way with me this morning and help me look it over." The older man's hearty acceptance of the invitation assured the artist of his genuine interest, and, an hour later--after Aaron King had interviewed the agent and secured the keys, with the privilege of inspecting the premises--the two set out together.
They found the place on the eastern edge of the town; half-hidden by the orange groves that surrounded it on every side.

The height of the palms that grew along the road in front, the pepper and eucalyptus trees that overshadowed the house, and the size of the orange-trees that shut in the little yard with walls of green, marked the place as having been established before the wealth of the far-away East discovered the peculiar charm of the Fairlands hills.

The lawn, the walks, and the drive were unkempt and overgrown with weeds.