She seemed to look younger every day; sometimes her eyes had that limpid, lustrous innocence that is seen in the eyes of a very little child; and, again, they would change and glow with the earnest and lofty thought of one who had lived through years of study, research, and discovery.

For the first few days of my visit she did not work in her studio at all, but appeared to prefer reading or talking with me.

One afternoon, however, when we had returned from a short drive in the Bois de Boulogne, she said half hesitatingly: "I think I will go to work again to-morrow morning, if you will not think me unsociable." "Why, Zara dearest!" I replied.

"Of course I shall not think you unsociable.

I would not interfere with any of your pursuits for the world." She looked at me with a sort of wistful affection, and continued: "But you must know I like to work quite alone, and though it may look churlish, still not even you must come into the studio.