stretching her arms above her head.

"I'm sure I shall die of fatigue, Maryon," she observed, coming round
to his side to inspect the sketch.

"Nonsense! I shall allow due intervals for rest and--mental
refreshment. What do you think of it?"

"I look rather--attractive"--impertinently.

"You do. Only I could suggest a substitute for the word 'rather.'"

Her eyes defied him.

"Could you? . . . What would it be?"

Before he could make any answer, there came a sound of voices close at
hand, and a minute later Trenby and Isobel Carson appeared from round
the corner of a high box hedge.

"We've been farming," announced Isobel. "I've been looking at Roger's
prize sheep and cattle. I mean"--with a laughing, upward glance at her
companion--"at the ones that are _going_ to be his prize sheep and
cattle as soon as they come under the judged eye. Then we thought we'd
motor across and inspect the portrait. How's it going, Mr. Rooke?"

"The portrait isn't yet begun, Miss Carson," he replied blandly.

"It seems to take a long time to get under way," she retorted. "Is it
so difficult to make a start? Surely not--for the great Mr.
Rooke!"--with delicate mockery.

There was a perpetual warfare between herself and Rooke. She was the
kind of woman he cordially detested--the pseudo sporting, outdoor type,
with a strong tendency towards the feline--"Neither male nor female
created He them," as he had once said. And when Rooke disliked man or
woman he took small pains to conceal the fact. Isobel had winced, more
than once, under the lash of his caustic tongue.

"I've made a start, Miss Carson, as these sketches testify"--waving his
arm towards them. "But some subjects require very much more delicate
handling than--others would do." And his half-closed eyes swept her
insolently from head to foot.

Isobel reddened and her mouth took on a somewhat disagreeable
expression.

"Then Nan must be an unusually difficult subject, mustn't she, Roger?
Why, you've been at it two weeks and have literally nothing to show for
it! You want speeding up."

Meanwhile Roger had been regarding the sketches in silence, an uneasy
feeling of dissatisfaction stirring in his mind.

"Yes," he said slowly. "You don't seem to have made much progress."
And his eyes travelled rather sombrely from Nan's face to that of the
artist.

"You must have a little patience, Trenby," replied Rooke pleasantly.
"The start is the difficult part. Te