of the hair faded
imperceptibly. The eyebrows were arched a little over the earnest,
unfathomable eyes; the lips were parted as if with impetuous breath; the
whole head leaned slightly forward, giving prominence to the chin, which
in reality retreated, a defect chiefly noticeable in profile. Ted had
painted what he saw. It might have been the head of a saint looking for
the Beatific Vision; it was only that of an ordinary pretty woman.

As a rule, they both chattered freely during the sittings. This is, of
course, necessary, if the artist is to know his sitter's face with all
its varying expressions; and Audrey had given Ted a great many to choose
from. This morning, however, he worked steadily and in a silence which
she was the first to break.

"What do you mean by talking about one more sitting in that way? You
said you'd want six yesterday."

"I did, but----" He leaned back and began tilting his chair to and fro.
"The fact is--I'm awfully sorry, but I'm afraid I'm going to leave
England." The young rascal had chosen his words with a deliberate view
to effect, and Audrey's first thoughts flew to America, though not to
Hardy. She moved suddenly in her chair.

"To emigrate? You, with your genius? Surely not!"

"No, rather not; it's not as bad as all that. But--I'm afraid I have to
go to Paris for six months or so."

"Whatever for?"

"Well--I must, you see."

"Must you? And for six months, too; why?"

"Because I--that is--I want to study for a bit in the schools there."

"Oh,"--she leaned back again among her cushions, and looked down at her
hands clasped demurely,--"if you want to go, that's another thing."

"It isn't another thing; and I don't want to go, as it happens."

"Then I am sure you needn't go and study; what can they teach you that
you don't know?" she leaned forward and looked into his face. "You're
not going in for that horrid French style, surely?"

"Well, I'd some thoughts----" he hesitated, and Audrey took courage.

"It can't be--it mustn't be! Oh, do, do give up the idea--for _my_ sake!
It'll be your ruin as an artist." She had risen to her feet, and was
gazing at him appealingly.

"You dear little thing, what do you know about the French school or any
other?"

"Everything. I take in 'Modern Art,' and I read all the magazines and
things, and--I know all about it."

"You don't know anything about it. All the same----" he paused, biting
his lip.

"All the same, what?"

"If I thou