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THE WINDOWBut she knew quite well that he did not admirethem, or even realise that they were there. Itwas only to please her. . . Ah, but was that notLily Briscoe strolling along with William Bankes?She focussed her short—sighted eyes upon thebacks of a retreating couple. Yes, indeed it was.Did that not mean that they would marry? Yes,it must! What an admirable idea! They mustmarry!I3

He had been to Amsterdam, Mr. Bankes wassaying as he strolled across the lawn with LilyBriscoe. He had seen the Rembrandts. Hehad been to Madrid. Unfortunately, it wasGood Friday and the Prado was shut. He hadbeen to Rome. Had Miss Briscoe never beento Rome? Oh, she should-; It would bea wonderful experience for her——the SistineChapel; Michael Angelo; and Padua, with itsGiottos. His wife had been in bad health formany years, so that their sight-seeing had beenon a modest scale.

She had been to Brussels; she had been toParis, but only for a flying visit to see an aunt whowas ill. She had been to Dresden; there weremasses of pictures she had not seen; however,Lily Briscoe reflected, perhaps it was better not1 1 3