“So I thought,” returned Bell, inexorably. Silence followed for a time; then Kitty put her easel on one side.

“That will do for to-day,” she said. “I don’t think you can go on longer. Perhaps to-morrow you will be better able to stand, and pray be more punctual.”

“To-morrow, signorina?” faltered Everitt. This was too much.

“Yes, to-morrow. Are you engaged?”

“I am engaged every day this week.”

“Every day? Oh, how tiresome! how very tiresome! What can we do?”

“Is it to Mr Everitt?” inquired Bell, applying a little turpentine to a spot of paint on her dress.

“Signorina, yes.”

“Do you know, I think he will let you off?” she said, raising her head and regarding him calmly. “I am almost sure of it.”

“Do you think so?” cried Kitty, joyfully. “Then,”—to Everitt—“will you ask him? Ask him to let you come, at any rate, to-morrow; and we will leave it in this way, that if he cannot spare you he will let us know.”

“But I think you will be here,” repeated Bell, in the same assured tone.

Chapter Three.

A Second Venture.

As Everitt walked home he was a prey to many conflicting feelings. It must be owned that he had entered upon this freak of his in a very inconsequent manner; he had not so much as reflected what results might not grow out of the necessity for repeating it. Moreover, he had lost the first sense of amusement in his masquerade, and hated the business. Why on earth had he not accepted Mrs Marchmont’s proposal, gone with her to see Miss Lascelles, and avoided this extremely false position in which he had planted himself?

Why, indeed!

As it was, it was with a feeling of rage that he thought of the next day, when he would be expected to stand up again before her—like a fool, as he said bitterly. Besides, it was a great deal more uncomfortable than he had expected—he was still cramped and stiff from the position. He made a swift resolution to have nothing more to do with it. It was easy enough to write a letter, as coming from him—Everitt—to say that the model could not be spared, but 

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