However, flat as September generally is, she will get some Moliere at the _Francais_, and your sister will take care that she sees the right people.

Perrault, I hear, is to give her lessons--under the rose.

Happy man!' * * * * * Kendal read this letter on a glowing August morning as he walked homeward along the side of the pond, where the shade of the fir-trees was a welcome protection against the rising heat, and the air was fragrant with the scent of the ling, which was just out in all its first faint flush of beauty.

He threw himself down among it after he had finished the sheets, and stared for long at the sunlit motionless water, his hat drawn forward over his brows.

So this was the outcome of it all.