on.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Kitty answered a little nervously.

The answer surprised Everitt for a moment; the next he understood. The new-comer was an upright, square, red-faced man, and when he came in he seemed to bring with him a dozen elements of disturbance. His boots creaked, his voice was loud.

“Here you are, here you are, eh?” he began. “Well, Kitty, how are you getting on with this fad of yours? I’ve just been telling your father I don’t thank him—I don’t indeed. If it weren’t for you, Bell would be at home, working at her needle, or doing something with a little sense in it. Painting! What’s the good of it when you’ve done it, eh? that’s what I want to know. Who have you got here? Italian? No more Italian than I am, I’ll be bound. Here, you Smith, Jones, whatever you’re called, I should very much like to know whether you’ve ever seen any country but England, eh?”

Bell interposed.

“Father, you mustn’t interfere with Kitty’s models.”

“Models, nonsense! If you want models, why don’t you draw one another, eh? Save your money, and not have these fellows hanging about. I wouldn’t allow it if I were Lascelles, not I! Well, I’ll take myself off, Kitty; I don’t want to disturb you, but take my advice, don’t you believe he’s an Italian, and don’t let yourself be taken in. If you’re ready in half an hour, Bell, I’ll take you home.—Hallo! what have I knocked over now? If you will have these bothering things on three legs standing about— Never mind? But I do mind; I mind uncommonly. Don’t talk to me, Bell; if you had decent furniture, a man needn’t knock his shins against it.”

He went away grumbling. The girls looked at each other and laughed.

“It is a little like an earthquake,” remarked Bell, calmly.

“He is delightful everywhere but in a studio,” said Kitty. “He knows nothing about pictures, but he makes me feel I know less. Bell, is it all a waste of time?”

“I don’t know,” said Bell. “Make as good a waste of it as you can, at all events, and go on with your picture.” To Everitt—“Keep up your hand, please; it drops more and more. Are you used to standing for artists?”

Everitt felt that he reddened.

“I have not been standing lately, signorina,” he stammered.

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