e mine."

"You're lucky to have them," said Nick a little vaguely, troubled about
his sitter's nose, which was somehow Jewish without the convex arch.

"Indeed I am. He gave them to me. Wasn't it charming?"

"'He' gave them--Mr. Dashwood?"

"Dear me, no--where should poor Dashwood have got them? He hasn't a
penny in the world. Besides, if he had got them he'd have kept them. I
mean your blessed cousin."

"I see--they're a present from Peter."

"Like many other things. Isn't he a dear? If it hadn't been for him the
shelf would have remained bare. He bought the play for this country and
America for four hundred pounds, and on the chance: fancy! There was no
rush for it, and how could he tell? And then he gracefully pressed it on
me. So I've my little capital. Isn't he a duck? You've nice cousins."

Nick assented to the proposition, only inserting an amendment to the
effect that surely Peter had nice cousins too, and making, as he went on
with his work, a tacit, preoccupied reflexion or two; such as that it
must be pleasant to render little services like that to youth, beauty
and genius--he rather wondered how Peter could afford them--and that,
"duck" as he was, Miss Rooth's benefactor was rather taken for granted.
_Sic vos non vobis_ softly sounded in his brain. This community of
interests, or at least of relations, quickened the flight of time, so
that he was still fresh when the sitting came to an end. It was settled
Miriam should come back on the morrow, to enable her artist to make the
most of the few days of the parliamentary recess; and just before she
left him she asked:

"Then you _will_ come to-night?"

"Without fail. I hate to lose an hour of you."

"Then I'll place you. It will be my affair."

"You're very kind"--he quite rose to it. "Isn't it a simple matter for
me to take a stall? This week I suppose they're to be had."

"I'll send you a box," said Miriam. "You shall do it well. There are
plenty now."

"Why should I be lost, all alone, in the grandeur of a box?"

"Can't you bring your friend?"

"My friend?"

"The lady you're engaged to."

"Unfortunately she's out of town."

Miriam looked at him in the grand manner. "Does she leave you alone like
that?"

"She thought I should like it--I should be more free to paint. You see I
am."

"Yes, perhaps it's good for _me_. Have you got her portrait?" Miriam
asked.

"She doesn't like me to paint her."

"Really? Perhaps then she won't like