"I cannot trust myself," he muttered. "I know on the deepest things in life, we are far apart, yet her little gracious ways, her sweet wistfulness in the midst of her wilful words, make me long to win her. It would not be for our lasting happiness, if I did so. I am not a boy, and I suppose as one grows older, one feels more deeply. I think after my week in Edinburgh, I will run up to London for a short time. When I return the picture will have been finished, and she will have left."
Jean little thought, when she left her room so hastily that night, what a long time it would be, before she saw Dr. Fergusson again.
A day or two afterwards, she was startled by receiving a telegram from Colonel Douglas.
"Can you return to Miss Lorraine? She is ill."
Jean did not take long to make up her mind. She went straight to Mrs. Gordon, and showed the message to her.
"I must go at once. She has been so good to me, and she lives alone. There is no one to look after her."
"And what about Sunnie's portrait? You have nearly finished it, have you not?"
"Yes; I am only working up the background. I think perhaps, I can work it up in London, if I take it with me."
"Perhaps that would be the best plan."
Jean's heart sank at Mrs. Gordon's calm acquiescence. She could not help speaking impulsively, as was her wont—