Stephen, leaning back and drawing idly on his scribbler, listened to the talk about him which Heron checked from time to time by saying: --Shut up, will you. Seated at my own table in clear noonday light I saw a person whom, without my previous experience, I should have taken at the first blush for some housemaid who might have stayed at home to look after the place and who, availing herself of rare relief from observation and of the schoolroom table and my pens, ink, and paper, had applied herself to the considerable effort of a letter to her sweetheart. Was it an instant of enchantment only or long hours and years and ages? The instant of inspiration seemed now to be reflected from all sides at once from a multitude of cloudy circumstances of what had happened or of what might have happened. The presence on the lawn--I felt sick as I made it out-- was poor little Miles himself.