"I don't for a moment expect you to buy, sir, but I was only a-satisfying of my artistic conscience." Rowlatt shut his sketch-book with a snap, and rose.

"Let us have a drink," said he.

"Artists should be better acquainted." He whispered a message to Paul, who sped to the inn and presently returned with a couple of the famous blue and white mugs frothing deliciously at the brims.

The men, their lips to the bubbles, nodded to each other.

The still beat of the August noon enveloped their bodies, but a streak of heavenly coolness trickled through their souls.