swayed, then began to feel as if pins and needles were all about him, then as though he were turned to stone. The ordinary hour had seemed to double itself before Miss Lascelles inquired gently whether he wished to rest. Rest! Never had the word a sweeter sound.

He sat down by the window. Outside and below there was a little old-fashioned garden with a brick wall and gravel paths. Two or three children ran out into these paths, and began a joyful onslaught upon square little plots where mustard and cress were sprouting into different combinations of the letter L. Further on a swing was fastened between two fine elm trees which grew out of the turf. There was a great deal of sunshine, and as yet little shade: only a finely outlined delicate network of shadows cast by the branches on the grass. Everitt had never in his life been more glad to sit down, and he thought the look-out delightful.

Presently the door opened, and another young lady came in.

He looked round idly, but the next moment a very disagreeable sensation shot through him. He recognised her at once—the girl who had come to his studio with Mrs Marchmont. Supposing she also remembered him? What a fool he had been not to take such a possibility into account! Good Heavens! what was to prevent Mrs Marchmont herself from arriving?

He took refuge in the garden, and in a corner of his cloak, horribly conscious that in a few minutes he would have to stand up before her with the full light striking upon him. But if she did not know him at the first glance, she might become more hesitating and confused the longer she thought of it; and he trusted a good deal to his hat. Meanwhile the two girls were talking, too low for him to hear.

“Well, Kitty, are you satisfied?”

“I’m not sure. It’s a good dress—isn’t it? But, Bell, he’s not—I assure you, he’s not—a good model.”

“Not?” repeated Bell. “Mr Everitt seemed to think him splendid. He said he was the best possible, but,”—lowering her voice—“a dreadful ruffian.”

“He is a very mild-looking ruffian, then.”

“Oh, Kitty, there’s a horrid expression in his eye!”

“Put it in, then; I can’t see it. But he can’t stand—he fidgets. He wanted to rest long before the hour.”

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