On Friday Evarne was free to give her time to Geoff, and the big Greek picture was duly commenced. Again she wore flowing white draperies, but of a more ornate and ample description than the very simple robe in which she had previously posed in this studio. Her head was encircled by a barbaric fillet, studded with roughly-cut, albeit gleaming stones, and high up on her arms were wide bracelets of chased gold; for although a captive, fair Andromache was a princess. Yet those same arms bore delicate fetters around the wrists, for Hector's widow was now a slave.

On her shoulder was to be borne a terra-cotta vase of classical design. It was very beautiful, both in contour and workmanship, but it was far from small, and Geoff was troubled lest his dear model should grow weary.

"You must stop as soon as you even begin to feel tired; don't wait for the ordinary rests. Will you promise?" he demanded, and smiling her assent, she took up the required position.

The robe she wore was so fine in substance that where the material actually touched her body it appeared to become vaguely hued with the most delicate, the most tender pink. On her arched feet were elaborate many-strapped sandals; her classically beautiful head, inclined meekly downwards, showed to perfection the gracious line at the back of her neck. She was indeed sufficient to arouse and inspire the most negligent of artists.

But it so chanced that Frank Pallister had just received an added impetus to his industry from another quarter.

A day or two before Geoff's unexpected return to England, Frank had paid a solemn afternoon call on Mrs. Vandeleur. This stately matron was Mr. Meridith's widowed sister, who kept house for him and chaperoned pretty little Maudie. She viewed Frank and his suit with a favourable eye, yet approved her brother's decision with regard to the postponed engagement. Thus, while a sense of duty prompted her to hover around with considerable persistence, it was often quite easy for the young people to make opportunities for whispered flirtations.

Thus, after duly listening to her complaints at being still in sultry London when August was practically at hand, from the necessity of Mr. Meridith's remaining in town until Parliament rose, Maudie and Frank found opportunity to exchange secret groans over the unendingness of three years.

"I wish to goodness I could shorten it!" sighed the youth.

"Then why don't you?" demanded the girl. "You know what dad says about it. Now, Frankie, why don't you do something grand, superb, incomparable—something that would cause the whole world to admire and wonder, and make your name famous for ever and ever? I would, if I were you, but you're a lazy boy, I know you are."

"It's easy to talk," was the rueful response. "But you just listen to what I've got on hand. Some day soon, Jack Hardy is to be allowed to do a marble bust of Lord Winborough. I told you, didn't I? If the great man will consent to be so far victimised, Jack is going to start proceedings by taking a life-mask of him. Very well, then, I'm going to watch, and perhaps assist, and when I've learnt how to do it, I shall start and do a bust of somebody or other who is well known. Then I have already got three new pictures and two statuettes on hand. Some of the galleries are bound to take some of them when they're finished, I should suppose."

"Dear Frankie," was the answer given in all seriousness, "I am so terribly afraid you're a genius!"

"Afraid!"

"Yes, for then you'll never get on in the world. It is only the second-rate people who reach the top of the ladder; the real born geniuses stick on the bottom rung, just because their work is too superior to be understood and appreciated by the common mob. There! What do you think of that? Dreadful, isn't it, poor boy?"

"I'm afraid you needn't upset yourself over my misfortunes in that direction. Who told you all this piffle?"

"Nobody exactly. I overheard two men talking at an 'at home.'"

"Were they neglected geniuses?"

"I don't know. I asked dad what they did, and he said he believed that one composed poetry and that the other wrote tragedies."

"Wouldn't you like Frank to see Sir James's painting of you?" interposed the voice of Mrs. Vandeleur.

The girl sprang to her feet.

"Fancy my forgetting! It's finished at last. It's in the dining-room at present. Come along. But don't expect much. It's not a bit nice; it's really ugly."

And indeed, on beholding the celebrated portrait-painter's production, Frank's loud exclamations of surprise and disdain were as profuse as the most disappointed of sitters could desire.

"Isn't your dad annoyed?" he demanded at length.

"Indeed, he's really vexed. He is paying so highly for it too. You remember the one of my mother that hangs in his study? That was done when she was seventeen, and he thought it would be so nice to have a companion one of his only kiddie at the same age. He wouldn't have minded the big price in the least if the picture had been satisfactory. This has been altered ever so many times, and now Sir James has got tired, and swears it is exactly like me; but it isn't, is it?"

"The old boy must be getting in his dotage. Now, I could paint you just beautifully, I'm sure. You would be such a jolly subject. I say!"

"What?"

Pallister glanced round to make sure that Mrs. Vandeleur was safely out of earshot.

"Don't you think your dad would consent to our engagement without any delay if I made a perfectly lovely picture of you? He would have to believe there was something in me then, wouldn't he?"

"Oh, Frankie, what a perfectly fine idea. I dare say he would. Let's ask him."

But the originator of the idea, with a frown of thought upon his brow, shook his head.

"To really have the proper effect it ought to be sprung upon him as a complete surprise—quite finished. 'Splendid! magnificent! superb!' he will exclaim, when he sees it—at least, I hope that's what he will say! Then he will go on: 'Only tell me what artist has produced this masterpiece.'"

"And then you'll answer——?"

"Nothing. I shan't speak a word—not a word! I shall just quietly and modestly point to my name in the corner. Oh, isn't it just a ripping plan?"

"Lovely! Perfectly delightful!"

"But you'll have to come sometimes to Geoff Danvers's studio and give me sittings, won't you?"

"Then auntie is to be in the secret?"

"It wouldn't be a secret for long if she knew. No, you must come alone. Do! It will be quite all right—really it will. Jack is always there, and we almost always have a woman model, so there would be a sort of a chaperone. You'll come? Remember what depends on it."

"It is awfully venturesome, but I'll do it," promised the girl after a moment's hesitation.

At this point Mrs. Vandeleur approached, and the remaining details of the conspiracy had to be hastily whispered at parting.

"You'll come as often as you can, duckie?"

"Yes, but I shan't be able to let you know long beforehand."

"I'll get the canvas ready at once. Come to-morrow."

"Can't. I'll let you know when. What shall I wear?"

"Any white frock."

"I'll remember. Good-bye."

This arrangement had been entered into over a week ago, and as yet no word had come from Maudie. Nevertheless Pallister was working away with renewed ardour, living in a state of eager expectation. Of course, the little idea had to be confided to Geoff, since he had so unexpectedly reappeared upon the scene. Strangely enough, it did not appeal to him in the light of an unquestionably brilliant notion preordained to success. He was inclined to advise decidedly against it, but finding that his opinion, although formally asked, was in reality not wanted in the least, he raised no actual objection to the carrying out of the plan.

"But, Geoff," persisted the somewhat crushed Pallister, "surely it is an awfully fine idea, so enterprising and original. Don't you think so really?"

"I've told you I fancy it's quite as likely to vex Mr. Meridith as to please him; but of course I may be mistaken. Who can tell what will melt a stern father's stony heart? You know him much better than I do, anyway."

"Well, it's awfully good of you, old chap, not to mind. I hope it won't interfere with your work too much. You know, I rather feel I ought to clear out at once, now you've come back."

"Not a bit of it. Stop at least until Miss Meridith's portrait is done. You couldn't ask her to go to any strange studio, you know. It's quite different here, where her father knows the whole lot of us."

So much for Frank's enterprise.

Jack Hardy also was working with increased ardour, with renewed interest and hope.

On the afternoon of the very day of his return from Venice, Geoff had called at the Albany to make inquiries regarding Lord Winborough's whereabouts. However far afield his cousin might happen to be, he almost invariably returned to England in the late summer and paid frequent visits to London.

Geoff was anxious to persuade Lord Winborough now definitely to arrange to fulfil his promise of sitting to Jack Hardy. It had not taken Geoff long to discover that his friend was unhappy and dispirited. The allegorical picture had been so far a miserable failure, and had left Jack in exactly the frame of mind to follow the dictates of worldly wisdom. He knew in his heart that portraiture, whether in oils or marble, was his forte, and the news that Lord Winborough was expected at his chambers in the course of a few days had served to brace him up anew. He would follow up the advantages in obtaining paying "sitters" that would probably result from his exhibiting a successful bust of the earl, and the long-dreamed-of "Belle Dame" picture should really be the last of its type, as far as he was concerned. Having definitely made up his mind to this, he was rewarded by a renewal of enthusiasm and belief in the future.

Saturday was devoted to work, but Geoff and Evarne spent the whole of Sunday up the river. To both it was a time of unmitigated delight. Sunshine, fair placid scenery, youth, health and love—what could have been added to render the hours more idyllic, golden, divine? If Evarne knew much sorrow, she had, as if in recompense, an intimate acquaintance with a far deeper, a more intense happiness than ever falls within the lot of many. She and Geoff agreed that next Sunday should be passed in the same manner. Quite definitely this was decided—"unless it rained!" That was the only possible obstacle that presented itself. Ah well! the mere decision was pleasant, and served to soften the hour of parting.