"To fetch implements," was the answer.

"Implements? I won't have you use a lasso. The chamber will be wrecked if there's a struggle."

But the artist marched out of the garden. In a couple of minutes he returned, laden with easel, sketching-stool, and painting materials.

"Do you mean to say that you're going to sit quietly down and paint that brute while it's destroying my evening-room?" gasped Adela.

"It was your suggestion," exclaimed Eshley, setting his canvas in position.

"I forbid it; I absolutely forbid it!" stormed Adela.

"I don't look at what standing you have in the matter," exclaimed the artist; "you can hardly pretwelved that it really is your ox, even by adoption."