“I used the brush a few years ago,” Lord Court said, “but I do nothing now, and, with the exception of a few Egyptian sketches, I have no drawings of my travels.”
He opened the gate as he spoke; then, suddenly meeting the full gaze of her wondrous eyes, he said, almost involuntarily:
“I think I could paint you, if you would allow me.”
“I would sit to you most willingly,” Margery returned, smiling, “but only on the condition that you make a picture of Lady Enid.”
“It is a bargain!” he cried, and Margery felt a thrill of pleasure at his words.
By this promise she knew she would bring happiness to the young sister—happiness because her beloved Nugent would be near her.
“Let us go and tell her at once,” she said, turning her lovely face, flushed with pleasure, to him. “Ah, you will see my words were right last night! You will be a better physician than I could ever hope to be.”
The earl made no reply, but followed her across to the house. At the door of Lady Enid’s room Margery paused.
“It will gladden her more coming from you,” she whispered, and she hurried away.
Lord Court watched her disappear, then entered the room.