“No, indeed! I was simply feeling my way; and, if you will honour me with a few sittings, I shall be deeply grateful. I propose to paint you as Rowena—full life size. You are an ideal Rowena.”
“And when?”
“Oh, not for some months—not before autumn. But I always take time by the forelock; and as I was down here at the Trevors” (had Cara Trevor instigated this visit? History is silent, and the true facts will never be divulged) “I thought I would seize the opportunity of bespeaking a model for next season. I will only ask you to sit to me for the head and hands; the dress and figure I can work at in town. What do you say?”
“Oh, Mr. Crabbe,” clasping her tiny hands rapturously, “I should have liked it beyond anything in the whole wide world. I am so sorry, but——”
“But your mother would not approve?”
“Not at all. She would be enchanted; but I am going to India immediately.”
“To India?” he repeated, after an expressively long pause.
“Yes; my aunt and uncle have invited one of us—it was most unexpected—and I am going.”
Mr. Crabbe looked grave; then he gave a sort of awkward laugh, and said—
“Well, Miss Gordon, I enroll myself among the number of friends who deeply deplore your departure. I am extremely sorry—indeed, I have a double reason for regret, for I shall never find such a Rowena!”