No one felt able thoroughly to settle themselves steadily to work that afternoon, for Lord Winborough had not timed his visit, and might be expected at any moment.

They laughed and chatted for some time, but gradually painting was beginning to engross somewhat of its usual meed of attention, when the electric bell rang out.

"That will be Winborough," declared Geoff as he left the room immediately to admit his visitor.

The studio door swung to, so that only a confused murmur of voices came from the hall. In a minute it was opened again, and Geoff was heard saying—

"Oh yes, we're all much the same as usual. You remember Jack Hardy, and this is Frank Pallister."

Evarne was standing with her back towards the door, and as the two young men had at once crossed over in that direction, they had passed out of the range of her vision; for, despite these interruptions, with the instincts of a thoroughly good model she had not stirred unbidden from her pose.

She heard Jack make a brief speech in his most polite style, though obviously with considerable nervousness.

"I want to thank you, Lord Winborough, for so kindly consenting to spare some of your time to sit for me. I know how busy you are, and am more than grateful."

The answer came in smooth, even tones.

"Indeed, Mr. Hardy, it is a pleasure to be able to assist in any degree so talented and—"

At the sound of this voice an icy hand seemed to lay itself upon Evarne's heart, chilling her blood. With parted lips and eyes staring with terror she turned round. There, in the centre of the little group, stood—Morris Kenyon!

Well may the rapidity of thought be employed as a synonym for the uttermost conception of speed. Simultaneously with the tremendous mental shock of beholding this man again under such horrible, such undreamed-of circumstances—above the resultant seeming cessation of all the wheels of life within her body, the sudden uncontrollable shivering that shook her from head to foot—she became conscious that her brain was frantically urging her to instantly do something by which to account for this physical agitation—something to explain this uncontrollable display of emotion. It prompted the method. She followed it without a second's hesitation. Before any of the men had turned their gaze upon her, she had deliberately let go of the vase she carried. It fell heavily, and was smashed into a dozen pieces.

Down on her knees she sank, bending her head low, as, with trembling hands, she gathered together the nearest fragments. Her actions were quite instinctive; her whole mind was bent on the recovery of her self-control. And she succeeded. When, after a minute's respite, she did dare lift her face, it was marked by no traces of greater concern than could easily be accounted for as the result of this embarrassing accident.

If Morris Kenyon, seeing her again with equal unexpectedness, had been guilty of any dramatic start or exclamation, it had passed quite unnoticed. All attention was turned upon Evarne, and Geoff was already by her side.

"My dear, what is the matter?"

She would not meet his eyes; her own might be too full of emotion. She sought to speak, but no words came.

Geoff grew alarmed.

"Are you feeling ill? Can I do anything? Never mind those silly broken pieces. Tell me!"

She made a tremendous effort. She could—she should—answer him rationally and calmly.

"I'm frightened, Geoff," she whispered quickly and very softly—"after what I learnt this morning. You understand? His voice sounded so hard, and he looks so stern. I was frightened."

He put his hand over hers and pressed it sympathetically, but no more could be said in confidence. The three other men had approached.

"What's happened, Miss Stornway?" inquired Jack.

Geoff explained.

"She's tired, that's all. She ought to have rested long ago."

Evarne spoke for herself.

"I'm so dreadfully grieved to have broken this beautiful vase. I can't think how I came to drop it. Oh, I am so sorry."

"It doesn't matter the least bit," Geoff declared emphatically.

Evarne was now seated on the edge of the throne, and for a minute the four men stood in a semicircle, silently surveying her. She could have wrung her hands in agony under this scrutiny.

"Please don't bother about me any longer," she cried, and there were traces of rising excitement in her voice. "I am so sorry to have made such a stupid disturbance. Please, please leave me alone now. There's nothing the matter with me."

Geoff took her at her word.

"Come over here and look at the beginning of my new picture, Winborough," he suggested, after a final keen and anxious glance at Evarne.

While the scarcely-started canvas was being explained, and attention was thus entirely distracted from herself, Evarne brought all the force of her will to bear on gaining complete self-mastery. And for this she had need to call upon that emergency fund of strength, endurance and resolution that a woman's fine nervous system almost invariably produces when great necessity demands. Every moment the horror that assailed her appeared to grow more crushing, more unendurable, yet she sat there silent and motionless, with an unruffled brow and an expression of perfect calm upon her beautiful features.

She could not keep her fascinated gaze from the spectacle of the two cousins going the round of the room together, Geoff chatting gaily as he displayed the various little oddments and curiosities that he had brought from Italy. Finally he produced a portfolio of water-colour sketches and handed them to his cousin one by one, describing, explaining, pointing out various parts that were to be especially noticed. Morris nodded, questioned, admired, held them at arm's-length to be better judged, all apparently without another thought in his mind beyond Art and Venice.

As the two men stood thus side by side, Evarne could most distinctly see traces of the relationship between them—more in the demeanour, the general build and outline, than in feature—but kinship, clear and unmistakable. There was exactly the same carriage of the head, much the same walk, while their hands—slender, long-fingered and especially well-tended—were practically identical.

Morris had changed very little in the seven years that had been lived through since the stormy scene that had marked that final parting on that spring morning in Paris. His dark hair was thinner, perchance, and turning grey upon the temples; there were a few more of Time's scratches upon his brow. But although he must be now somewhere about fifty-five, his figure—thanks probably to his devotion to fencing—was still as slender, as trim and upright as that of any of the younger men in the room.

Evarne had opportunity of studying his appearance at leisure, for not once did he glance in her direction. She knew this must be intentional, and was so far grateful, though such a mild emotion could find scant place in her mind just then. It was almost unendurable to see those two men standing side by side thus. Not only was the instinct of self-preservation on the alert, but every refined impulse in her nature was outraged by the spectacle. Unconsciously she caught hold of the slightly overlapping edge of the floor of the throne, and dragged at it with such unsparing force that the muscles of her arms stood up terse and hard.

The sketches all surveyed, the conversation turned on Jack, his work and the bust that was to be undertaken.

"I've just finished a life-size statue of a child," Jack said. "It's only in clay at present, but I am going to work it out in marble—perhaps as a memorial-stone. You think it is good, don't you, Geoff?" and he turned anxiously towards his friend for confirmation.

"Indeed it is splendid," was the ready answer "You should see it, Winborough. It is in the plaster-room yonder. It is a dreadful weight to lift. Will you go in there and look at it?"

Winborough cordially assented, and escorted by Jack and Pallister he left the studio.

Geoff did not accompany the trio. He was anxious about Evarne, and, sitting down beside her, he slipped his arm around her waist as he declared in a tone of raillery—

"Well, sweetheart, you have surprised me! I had no idea you were such a little coward. I thought you were as brave as anything."

She hastened to account for this sudden weakness by numerous excuses. It seemed to her that it must necessarily have aroused some suspicion, although Geoff's manner showed not the slightest trace of any such feeling.

"I don't like you to think me cowardly," she said, "so please remember all I have had lately to upset me. First of all, I have not really been feeling fit to pose lately. I'm weary! The engagement I finished on Thursday was a terribly trying one. I stood for that wretched artist for the figure for nearly six weeks without missing a single day except Sundays. He wanted to get his picture done before he went away for his holidays, and he succeeded, but it made me quite ill."

Geoff was properly indignant.

"It was enough to kill you; you should not consent to do such things. You must not play with your health like that. You ought never to have sat at all for such a selfish brute."

Evarne shrugged her shoulders.

"You see, you don't know what it is to have to earn your own living," she declared with a little smile. "I certainly did intend resting for the remainder of the week, but you were so anxious to start your picture, dear, that I went right on without even a day's interval."

Now Geoff was indeed repentant.

"Oh, my darling, I didn't understand! I didn't know! It's all my fault. How horribly thoughtless I am! Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't think it would matter. I am very strong, you know, as a rule. But what I learnt this morning so suddenly worried me seriously; and then—I told you—I got so frightened when your cousin was really here, that my silly hands trembled, and I broke that vase that I know you value. So altogether, if I was a bit pale and not quite myself, it wasn't without sufficient cause, was it?"

Even as she spoke she found herself wondering why she took this trouble to blind Geoffrey's eyes. If he did not immediately learn the true reason of her alarm at the sight of his cousin, he would know to-morrow—or the day after—or the day after that! It could be only a question of a more or less brief time. Why not give up the struggle at once? Her heart ached as she listened to his expressions of self-reproach, knowing as she did that he had been unfailingly kind and considerate towards her from the hour of their first meeting.

"Evarne, dearest, do forgive me. You have made me feel terribly remorseful. One thing after another for you to endure, and all my fault! If that is the best care I can take of you, I don't deserve to have you, that's certain. Dear, say you forgive me this time. I will try and be more thoughtful."

He drew her closer to his side, and right gladly would she have rested there and endeavoured to forget the world, its deceptions and its difficulties. But this was most decidedly not the time for such indulgence, and she was in the very act of withdrawing herself from his encircling arm, when exactly that which she was seeking to avoid came to pass. Jack must needs choose this psychological moment to throw open the door and conduct Winborough back into the studio.

It was an awkward moment for everyone. Geoff rose to his feet, but did not loosen his arm from around Evarne. It merely slipped upwards from her waist to her shoulders.

Jack looked absolutely aghast. Pallister gave vent to a silly inopportune little snigger, while Winborough demanded somewhat sarcastically—

"Do you spend much of your time studying art by such methods, Geoffrey, my boy?"

"Let me explain," said the young man without a moment's hesitation. "It may come as a complete surprise to you, Winborough; but Jack, and even Pallister, who have been here with us in the studio, must be fully prepared to hear of my good fortune. I mean that I have asked Miss Stornway to become my wife, and she has consented."

That even under these difficult circumstances Geoffrey would make this startling announcement publicly, on the spot, without either warning or preparation, was as unlooked-for by Evarne as it could have been by any of the others. But the emergency did not find her wanting. With this new demand came fresh strength. Instantly rising to her feet, she drew herself up to her full height, lifted her head proudly, and without the slightest trace of fear or faltering, advanced a couple of steps forward. Then, by sheer force of will she compelled Morris Kenyon to meet her eye, and resolutely concentrated the whole of her mental strength to its uttermost limits in sending forth a wordless message—a command—that this man should not speak to betray her.

And silence prevailed in the room!

Evarne remained motionless, her soft robes falling around her in gracious dignified folds, her beautiful head haughtily upraised. She made herself, by mere force of character and dauntless determination, absolute mistress of the situation for the time being.

But the fetters were still around her wrists!

The silence was finally broken by Geoffrey. Turning from the cousin with whom he had but little in common, he looked across at his chosen friend, and asked somewhat coldly—

"Well, Jack, have you nothing to say?"

Thus adjured, that young man pulled himself together.

"My dear Geoff, I—I really—I do congratulate you—both of you. I'm sure you'll be happy."

"You've completely floored me," cried Pallister gaily, recovering his breath. "I'm so surprised, you can come and knock me down with a feather if you want to. I'm sure I congratulate you heartily. Three cheers for Mr. and Mrs. Danvers! Hurrah! Can I be best man?"

But Evarne scarcely heard anything of this. She and Morris still stood separated by the length of half the room, gazing sternly into one another's eyes, each reading and sending forth defiance, antagonism, mutual hatred.

Yet when Winborough at length spoke it was in tones that were quite light and casual.

"If marriage wasn't such a confounded knot to untie, there would not be the same need for careful consideration beforehand that undoubtedly there is now—more's the pity! When you do marry, Geoff, I wish you every happiness—that you know."

Evarne returned to the throne and sat down again. Having averted the danger of Morris speaking out on impulse at first hearing Geoff's announcement, she felt herself safe for the minute. He would indeed be strangely altered if he now suddenly burst forth into accusations, making a scene in the presence of Jack and Pallister, and running the risk of ensuring public talk and scandal. Besides, she still retained sufficient faith in his honour to believe that he would not deliberately give away her secret to men whom it did not concern.

But before long her apprehensions were again up in arms.

"You are inhospitable here," announced his lordship. "Do artistic aspirations do away with parched throats, even on sultry July afternoons? If so, that's rather an important point for temperance advocates. For my part, fancying I remember where you keep your whisky and syphons, Geoff, I'm going to see if I can look after myself, eh?"

With the utmost nonchalance he strolled out of the studio. As Winborough had anticipated, Geoffrey promptly followed him.

As soon as they were alone in the sitting-room, Winborough rounded on the young man sharply.

"Look here, what folly is this? Is it possible you are really thinking of marrying that girl?"

"I told you so plainly enough, didn't I?"

"Preposterous! Do you suppose you can be allowed to take up seriously with any stray creature who happens to please your fancy? The idea is absurd—utterly absurd!"

Geoff's eyes flashed, but he kept his temper. He had fully anticipated that Winborough would at first oppose this marriage. But of course all objections were founded on mere prejudice and ignorance, so he answered quietly in the hope of explaining and thus conciliating his cousin. He tried to express the admiration, the respect and the affection he felt for Evarne, in a manner totally devoid of any exaggeration or seeming blindness, but with unmistakable clearness and certainty.

"You are prejudiced against Evarne because of her profession, Winborough; but when you have known her for a little while you will be forced to acknowledge that, despite it, she is in every respect as near perfection as any human being can possibly be. In culture and refinement, in mind and manner, she is the equal of my own mother. She is absolutely honourable and straightforward and high-principled, and I love her. Now, I ask you, what more can one want? If she is a bit below me socially, that is the one and only drawback—such as it is—that anyone can possibly adduce; and after all, it is her personality and my feelings that are the matters of real consequence. Isn't that so?"

"Not entirely. Her character and her past record are of the utmost importance. Now, what do you know of her? Not much, I'll be bound. No, my boy, when you do finally decide to marry, you must choose some nice girl in your own station of life. One who has been properly brought up, and about whom there can be no question, which is more than can be said for Miss Stornway."

"You presume most abominably upon our relationship," Geoff was commencing angrily, but both his sentence and the remainder of the conversation were doomed to remain unfinished. Hurried footsteps were heard in the hall, and Jack charged into the room, crying—

"I say, get some brandy or something quickly! Miss Stornway has fainted."

With a feeling akin to despair had Evarne watched the two men leave the studio. It had been so obviously a mere contrivance on Morris's part to speak to his cousin alone. Now the blow was to fall, and what possible means had she of preventing it? A sudden consciousness of her own weakness, her utter impotence, swept across her, bringing something not unlike resignation in its train. She would change her costume and go away—everything was over! She stood up, but with the more commanding attitude the fighting spirit rallied again. She would not yield yet. She would strive till the very last.

The imperative need of the immediate moment was to end that tÊte-À-tÊte now proceeding. Morris and Geoff had been alone scarcely a couple of minutes. No harm was perhaps done yet, but every second might be of consequence. How was it to be stopped—how—how? She cast about in her mind for an inspiration. Ah! was there any wisdom in belonging to that sex that men designate "the weaker," and yet never taking advantage of it in emergencies such as this? Without a second thought she gave a low cry, raised her hand to her head, let herself drop heavily upon the floor, and there lay just as she had fallen—motionless, helpless, with closed eyes and scarce fluttering breath.

The anticipated result ensued. Half a minute later Geoff was on his knees hanging over her in an agony of dismay, while Winborough might have been absolutely non-existent for all the attention he was able to command.

Every device known to man for the conquering of a fainting attack did Evarne allow to be vainly essayed before finally lifting her languid eyelids. A look of relief passed over three anxious countenances. Winborough stood leaning against the door, surveying the scene. His features bore an expression that might have puzzled the uninitiated, but Evarne understood. Meeting her eye, he smiled at her. Their mutual glance was scarcely more than instantaneous, but it was all-sufficient. She knew right well that not for a moment had he been deceived by her pretended swoon. Geoff's gaze, fixed intently on the face so dear to him, saw a shadow of distress pass over it as a fleeting cloud. He looked rapidly at Winborough over his shoulder, but no explanation was forthcoming from that quarter, and he turned all his attention again to his "Sweet Lady."

She was supported to the open window, ensconced in an arm-chair; cushions were arranged behind her head; a footstool was brought for her feet. More than once, as Winborough watched all this care and attention, the same mocking smile hovered around his lips.

"Don't leave me," murmured the invalid, laying her hand upon Geoff's arm.

But even as she spoke she stole a glance at the man standing by the door. He it was with whom an undisturbed interview was essential. Each must learn the other's mind—it was imperative.

"I have an idea that if I could say a few words to your cousin while I'm so ill, it might soften his heart towards me," she whispered, after a brief period of perplexed thought. "Do arrange for me to have a minute or two alone with him, to see if I cannot persuade him to think more kindly of me."

"I will call him over if you like."

"But I can't talk about you while you're listening. That would be embarrassing for me, wouldn't it?"

But Geoff was reluctant.

"Oh, he is in a nasty temper. He would very likely say something to wound your feelings, and you have borne more than enough lately. Don't bother about him."

"I can't endure to make trouble between you. Do let me try. He doesn't look very stern now," she declared.

Winborough was engaged in conversation with Jack and Pallister, and was obviously making himself as pleasant as he so well knew how to do when he chose. Nevertheless, Geoff frowned slightly and shook his head.

But with a very little more perseverance, Evarne, as usual, got her own way. A few minutes later she found her enemy standing by the side of her chair in an otherwise empty room, and heard herself directly addressed by that voice which, above all others, she had hoped and believed would never fall upon her ears again.

"Will you accept my compliments upon your really admirable presence of mind."

She sat erect with amazing alertness.

"Morris! So you are his cousin?" she cried, for the first time allowing the full horror she felt to appear in both tone and expression.

"Most unfortunate, isn't it?" he agreed. "If it had been any other man whatsoever I wouldn't have spoiled your little game. As it is, of course—well, I'm sure you will understand."

"Do you really suppose I'm going to give him up quietly, simply to please you?" she demanded—then added hastily, "But we can't talk about it here."

Morris raised his eyebrows.

"Is there anything to discuss? Oh, I understand. Pardon my dullness. We'll make that all right. I'm not ungenerous. Where are you living? Where can I come and see you?"

So he was actually taking her words to imply that she wanted money. She opened her lips, ready with an indignant denial, but stopped short. Let him labour under this delusion for the time being. It was a decided advantage.

She gave him her address.

"I am posing here all day," she explained. "You can come in the evening at half-past seven."

"I am engaged to-night. Expect me to-morrow. I'll drop in after I've dined. Somewhere between eight and nine. I say, Evarne."

"What is it?"

"You won't throw the furniture at me, will you?"

She found no answer for this taunt. Leaning back in the chair, she turned her head wearily away, while a couple of big tears gathered in her eyes. He was very brutal—very heartless. What was she to do, or say to him?

In another minute the door had swung to behind him, and Geoff was bending over her.

She looked up mournfully, while the big tears overflowed and trickled unrestrainedly down her cheeks.

"It was quite useless," she murmured brokenly. "He is absolutely determined to prevent our marriage. Oh, Geoff, my dearest, I am so unhappy. What am I to do? I love you so much."