The morning dawned radiantly clear, and hot to sultriness. Evarne dressed leisurely, and by nine o'clock, far from being at the studio, was still toying with her breakfast. Her magnificent health saved her from looking as exhausted as the sleepless night and the nerve-strain of the last few days would well have justified. Indeed, with a hectic flush upon her cheek, and eyes supernaturally brilliant, any untrained observer would have adjudged her a fit model for the goddess Hygeia herself.

"Do try and eat somethin'," persuaded Philia anxiously. "Goodness knows when you last 'ad a decent square meal."

"I don't feel that I can, and what's more, I can't stop looking at it any longer," declared the girl as she rose from the table. "Those poor young men will be thinking I'm not coming again."

And indeed at the studio everything did seem to be thoroughly disorganised.

"Well, we have done a fine lot of work these last few days," remarked Jack disconsolately.

But Pallister was in high spirits. He had seen Maudie Meridith on the previous evening, and, moved by his earnest reproaches, she had undertaken to do her level best to come this very morning to give him a first sitting for her portrait. Thus he answered Jack's complaining growl with light-hearted insouciance.

"Oh, well, we can't all keep our noses eternally to the grindstone like you do, old chap. I think we're getting along splendidly."

But Jack was not to be thus pacified.

"I don't want to waste this morning. Do you think Miss Stornway will be coming, Geoff?"

"Surely," rejoined that young man, turning from the open window from whence he had been watching the passers-by in the street below. "She would have sent a message, as she did yesterday, if she still felt too unwell."

And in a very few minutes his faith was justified; Evarne appeared at the farther end of the street. He watched her as she drew near, noting how she showed graceful and dignified amid the crowd. Although the studio was on the third floor, the summer air was so clear that, as she drew nearer, he could see her features quite distinctly. Some attraction drew her gaze upwards, and she waved her hand in greeting, whereupon he ran downstairs and met her at the garden gate.

Her dress fitted exquisitely over her lovely figure; it was of pink cambric, made according to her individual fancy in costume. Its rich hue emphasised her dark eyes and flawless complexion as none other could have done, while her simple straw hat was wreathed with blush roses. Geoff had never yet beheld her clad from head to foot in shades of pink, and thus arrayed, apart from all question of personal affection, she must have been a sheer delight to any artist's eye.

"I'm afraid I'm dreadfully late," she said apologetically to Jack and Pallister on gaining the studio. "Please forgive me, and you shall just see how quickly I can get into those Greek robes when I like."

"You must sit down first and have a rest after your walk," insisted Geoff, while Pallister declared gaily—

"Don't trouble about me. You're going to have a rival this morning."

"A rival! This is very serious."

"Such a pretty one too."

"Really? Who is she?"

"Ha, ha! You'll see when she comes."

He jumped down from the studio flight of steps on which he had been perched, skipped gaily across the floor, and leant perilously far out of the low window.

"How excited that baby is," said Geoff, smiling indulgently. "He expects Miss Meridith to give him a sitting to-day. Now, come here, sit down by me and rest. Could you eat some of those cherries?"

Evarne consented to try, and took her seat on the divan beside Geoff, the plate on her lap. Pallister glanced at the little group.

"I say, Jack," declared the wise youth, "guess we're not exactly indispensable to the consumption of those cherries. Come down to the garden and let's have a smoke till Maudie arrives."

"I was thinking of sketching Geoff and Miss Stornway as they sat together there," said Jack simply. But since Pallister received this proposition with a hearty burst of laughter, he meekly wended his way downstairs, still complaining under his breath at the valuable hours he was losing.

"You're sure you feel quite well again?" demanded Geoff for about the fifth time, reading Evarne's face with an anxious, not over-satisfied glance. "You don't look quite the same as usual somehow, sweetest."

"You're fanciful," and the bright eyes were flashed upon him reassuringly. "I'm quite well and strong, and ready to face the world."

"That's good hearing. You'd laugh at me if you knew how I've been worrying about you. I vow I lay awake half the night thinking of you."

"Don't be so proud about it, for I did exactly the same thing for you. At least, to be exact, I sat up talking to old Philia about Geoff and all his faults and virtues. She really is a good old soul, and has taken quite a fancy to you."

"And since it seems that her presence in your little home is essential to my being allowed there, I have, perforce, taken quite a liking to her. Good thing it's a mutual affection, eh?"

"Isn't it indeed? Well, to-night sees the end of her sittings, so you will be able to come quite often if you care to. To start with, I herewith formally invite you to supper to-morrow night. Miss Evarne Stornway requests the pleasure of Mr. Geoffrey Danvers' company at supper to-morrow night, at seven-thirty. R.S.V.P."

"Mr. Danvers has much pleasure in accepting Miss Stornway's kind invitation for Tuesday evening," returned Geoff with mock solemnity.

"Right!" laughed Evarne, clapping her hands together gleefully. "You shall come out into the kitchen and help me make pancakes. I'm really quite adorable then. You will just love me when you see me making pancakes."

She tossed back her head and dangled a cherry into her open mouth. Geoff's reply was interrupted by the sound of stumbling footsteps mounting the stairs.

"Talking of angels," cried Evarne, as a panting figure leaned against the doorway. "Why, Philia, what do you want?"

"H'excuse my intrudin'," commenced the old woman. "Two young gentlemen sittin' in the garden told me to come right up, and I should find the studio at the top of the stairs, and the door standin' open. I couldn't lose me way if I tried, they said; and sure enough I'm 'ere."

"Then come in and sit down, Mrs. Harbert," said Geoff. "I hope nothing's the matter?"

"I'm quite well, thankin' you, sir, and the same to you. I wanted to consult Evarne on a matter of great himportance. I've got to decide in a 'urry, or I wouldn't 'ave hintruded."

"Well, here is Evarne. I'll leave you for a while."

"Don't go, Geoff," said the girl, laying her hand on his arm. "I don't suppose it's any great and wondrous secret, is it, Philia?"

"Not a bit of it. Jist after you'd gorn comes a letter for me from that very nice gentleman, Mr. Topham—the same as I sat for six months ago as the Countess o' Suffolk, saying as 'ow she wouldn't 'ave 'er 'ead cut off."

"I remember."

"Well, now—well. What do you think? You'd never guess! 'E wants me to go to Scotland for two 'ole months to pose for 'im out of doors all among the gorse and 'eather and 'eath! It's a bit o' kindness on Mr. Topham's part, for I s'pose there's elderly ladies in Scotland 'e could paint, but 'e allus was good to me. I'm to telegraph me answer and go on Thursday mornin'. I'd like to go ever so much—wouldn't I jist, my gosh!—but I'm worryin' about 'ow you'd git on without me, Evarne."

"Oh, you ought not to miss such a splendid offer. Let me see the letter, may I?"

After glancing through its contents the girl handed it back.

"She really ought to go, Geoff, oughtn't she? Mr. Topham offers very generous terms, including the fare both ways. She needs a change. Don't you, Philia? It will be splendid for you to get out of London this hot weather. I only wish a holiday could be managed for poor little Evarne. Yes, I decide for you—you must accept."

"That's all very fine for me," demurred the old woman; "but what about you, left all alone in the 'ouse?"

"Ah, indeed!" demanded Geoff. "What will you do?"

"That's jist what I was wonderin' as I came along 'ere," declared Philia. "Comin' 'ome tired as she does, 'ardly able to stand sometimes—pore child—and not a soul there to say a word to 'er, or git 'er so much as a cup o' tea! I'm afraid I ought to tell Mr. Topham as 'ow I can't come."

Evarne did not answer for a few seconds.

"It does sound a touching picture, certainly. You make me quite sorry for myself," she confessed. Then with a sudden forced renewal of brightness: "But there, it can't be helped. Any number of models live alone always. Of course Philia must go to Scotland, and I mustn't be selfish and lazy."

"It ain't a question of bein' jist selfish and lazy," rejoined the old woman rather testily. "I ain't sure it would be right of me to go gallawantin' jist now. 'Twould be different if yer was quite well and strong. But I ask yer to answer honest. Ain't this 'ot weather upsettin' yer? Ain't yer bein' overworked or somethin'? She 'arf fainted again last night, sir. She ain't so strong by 'alf as she likes to make out. I didn't ought to go, I knows it, though I do want to."

"Evarne, you told me you felt better," cried Geoff in mingled reproach and alarm.

"So I am this morning," she rejoined, smiling at him. "Now, you run off home, Philia, and think about packing."

But the old woman shook her head, lingered and looked at Geoff with eyes full of doubt and anxiety.

"Do you think I ought to leave 'er lonely, sir?"

He was decidedly uneasy at the idea.

"I don't like the notion—really I don't. Look here, can't you get a servant?"

Evarne smiled again, this time somewhat ruefully.

"He does think we're rich, doesn't he, Philia? Dear Geoff, to speak frankly, I can't afford it."

He put his hand on her arm.

"Darling, surely you will let me see to that for you?"

She shook her head with unhesitating decision.

"I couldn't possibly let you ever give me money."

At length Philia saw an opening, and no alert lawyer could have darted at it more promptly.

"Until 'e is yer 'usband, yer mean. Then he'll 'ave a right to, won't 'e?"

"Of course, everything will be different then," she assented, with a swift, shy glance at her lover.

"But, you dear little silly," he rejoined tenderly, "it's only a question of two or three weeks at the very outside. What real difference can it possibly make?"

"It does—I feel it does. Please don't press the point. Now, Geoff, remember I'm always right. You owned that yesterday evening."

"Yes, and what did I tell you? Have you forgotten? That you would have to marry me all the sooner on account of this terrible correctness. Now, then, how much sooner does this fresh example bring it?"

Here Mrs. Harbert chipped in again, desperately seizing the bull by the horns.

"It's a real pity yer 'aven't bin engaged a week or two longer, both of yer. Then I'd say, git married at once—to-morrow—to-day, and let Evarne 'ave a 'usband to look after 'er 'enceforward."

Geoff's eyes brightened.

"I say——" he was commencing, but Evarne interrupted in tones of obvious annoyance.

"You ought not to say things like that, Philia. It's very inconsiderate."

But the culprit was in no ways disconcerted.

"Lor, she's a regular babby," she declared laughing. "The very idea o' really gettin' spliced makes 'er that bashful."

And sure enough the colour on Evarne's cheeks had perceptibly deepened.

"Jist look if she ain't gorn as red as a radish," continued Mrs. Harbert. "And all along o' the idea of a weddin'!"

"It's not that," declared Evarne with energy; "it was your silly suggestion of getting married at once—without any delay—that vexed me. You oughtn't to say things of that sort. You're excited about this Scotch tour, you stupid old Philia. As if people ever rushed off and got married at twenty-four hours' notice! And for no better reason than that I run the risk of feeling lonely and unhappy in an empty house. Bless the darling, she shan't have any of the hardships of life—no, she shan't! You've got no right to mortify me so; it's horrid of you, I'm really vexed with you."

She moved away, and sat down with her back to Philia, tapping the floor angrily with the tip of her pretty pink shoe. The old woman shrugged her shoulders and appealed to Geoff in decidedly nettled tones.

"Mr. Danvers, sir, am I a fool or is she? One of us is, that's certain, and though I asks yer which it is, I knows without bein' told. Maybe I 'ave taken liberties. I was only jokin'. Still, it's unkind o' Evarne to talk to me like that, ain't it? I'd better make up me mind not to go away, and 'ave done with all talk. 'Lonely and un'appy!' Why, it might be the death of 'er—that's what it might be. Yes, my beauty, you've chucked yerself downstairs in a faint once in yer life. You'll be doin' it again."

Evarne glanced over her shoulder.

"Rubbish! I was ill then."

"So yer are now; what's the good o' denyin' it? You'll take a header over the banisters one fine evenin' and cut yer 'ead open on the floor, and it will bleed and bleed and bleed, and no one will know. You'll lie there all night, and in the mornin' you'll be dead—a corpse—d'you hear?—cold and stiff—and all the howlin' in the world won't make yer alive agin."

Evarne laughed at this lurid visionary tableau, and recovered her temper.

"Why, what a very vivid imagination——" she was commencing.

But Geoff interrupted. He had been rapidly turning over in his mind this startling idea of an immediate wedding, and found it rose-coloured. Not only did he long for the day that should give him the woman he loved, but he foresaw that, by his marriage being once put beyond the pale of argument, he would probably avoid a great deal of useless discussion and consequent ill-feeling between himself and his cousin. Except Winborough, he had no relations sufficiently near to feel themselves aggrieved at not having been confided in about the matter—and indeed when were aunts or cousins ever seriously considered in such a case? The one objection to this unconventional suddenness was that it might be more pleasant for Evarne not to have had her wedding in any way apparently hurried or peculiar. But now other circumstances seemed to counter-balance this really very small and indefinite objection.

Thus his meditations were not long protracted, and he interrupted Evarne's sentence upon sudden impulse.

"Mrs. Harbert is quite right. It would not be at all safe for you to be living absolutely alone while you're liable to these horrible fainting attacks. Dearest—dearest—marry me to-morrow and give me the right to really look after you and care for you. Please don't shake your head. Obviously it is in every way best and advisable. Why do you hesitate? We don't want a smart wedding or anything alarming of that sort, do we? You do care for me, really and truly, don't you, and you believe that you will be safe and happy with me? Mrs. Harbert, you've had a really brilliant idea——"

"Lor, sir, I only spoke in fun. I never thought of your takin' it serious-like."

"But you see now, don't you—don't you, Evarne—that to procure a special licence and get married to-morrow morning, without any unnecessary preparation, will save a world of annoyance and anxiety? My dear one, do think how I should worry about you. Besides—besides—the truth is, I want to feel that you are mine beyond the possibility of your changing your mind."

"You think I might, then?"

"Well, I don't mean that exactly. There, I don't want to have to think about it at all; I want to make our marriage a fact. I want to be secure of you. Our circumstances are somewhat peculiar. We have neither of us got any relations we need to think of; we've only got each other in the whole world, Evarne. Why should we run any risks? Dear one, dear love, be persuaded. Say 'yes,' and you shall never, never regret it."

He spoke in tones soft and coaxing enough to melt a heart of stone, yet he received no answer, either by word or look. Somewhat puzzled, Philia broke the protracted silence.

"Yer can't love 'im as much as yer told me, or you'd be 'appy at the idea of callin' 'im 'usband."

But Evarne heeded her not. She was overwhelmed with shame at the ease with which her own plot had succeeded. Where she was concerned, Geoff was absolutely devoid of the faintest suspicions of any description. The bare possibility of trickery, of prearrangement or of falsehood having any part in Philia's unexpected visit to the studio, obviously never entered his mind. It was enough to him to be made to see that his 'Sweet Lady's' material well-being would be benefited by her becoming his wife at once, and immediately his whole desire was to persuade her to this course of action. Knowing that practically every word she had spoken that morning had been uttered with the full intention of deceiving—as part of a deliberate scheme—the perfect confidence he had in her integrity and honour, his loyal, generous, and complete trust, were to her a bitter reproach. It stabbed her conscience, and she stood silent and abashed before him.

But far was it from her thoughts to waver in her purpose at this eleventh hour. Raising her head, she looked for a minute full into Geoff's earnest grey eyes, and within her heart she again registered a vow to put his happiness, his welfare, first and foremost now and in the future. These minutes of apparent hesitation were sacred, and her expression was intense and solemn as she replied in a slightly quivering voice—

"My own beloved, I am yours, absolutely and without restriction. You are to decide my life, my actions; to guide my very thoughts as is most pleasing to you. Everything shall be done exactly as you desire."

Entirely oblivious of Mrs. Harbert's presence he thanked her by kisses.

"I'll telegraph to Mr. Topham, then," interposed the overlooked Philia after a minute. "I'll tell 'im I'm comin' right enough. Now, 'owever will I find out what train to git or what station to go from, or anything else?"

Evarne came back to earth.

"Ask Geoff to look it up in the time-table for you," she suggested.

"Certainly. Where is it you want to go to?"

"Saint—Saint—it's Saint somewhere," and Philia again peered into her letter. "St. Andrews."

As the young man left the studio to find the time-table, she came close to Evarne, a broad smile of triumph on her genial countenance.

"Well, now, ain't I bin and gorn and done well? Ain't I a fine hactress? Didn't the stage lose a shinin' light when I took up Hart as a profession? Ain't I got a fine invention too? Didn't I ought to 'ave written books? Ain't I been wonderful sharp? Pity I ain't a beastly lawyer."

Evarne seized both the old woman's hands in a somewhat frantic grip.

"Oh, my dear, I shall never forget what you've done for me. I'm saved. Thank God—thank God!"

"Keep quiet, duckie. It's not quite done yet. You've got to prevent 'im from tellin' the snake till after it's over."

"I know, but Heaven is on my side."

In a few moments Geoff returned with a slip of paper in his hand.

"See here, I've written down times and station, so you'll have no difficulty. We must go away for a honeymoon, mustn't we, Evarne?"

"Of course. I shouldn't feel that I'd been legally married without that," she declared promptly and gladly.

"You'll help her pack, then, and look after her generally, won't you, Mrs. Harbert? Do you know of anything she wants? If so, tell me."

"There's nothin' as I knows of as won't wait until Thursday, when yer can git it for 'er yerself," declared Philia.

"Please don't talk about me as if I wasn't present," remonstrated Evarne. "You run away now, Philia. By the way, Geoff, you must come to supper with me to-night. It will be the last real opportunity I shall have of playing genuine hostess to you. Think of that!"

He naturally agreed, whereupon Evarne and Philia indulged in a brief whispered debate concerning the menu for the evening meal. At length the old dame took her departure, thoroughly well satisfied with her own hitherto unsuspected cleverness.