"Indeed, you shall!" she said, lightly.
"I may have an opportunity," he went on, "for I am afraid I shall be rather a frequent visitor."
"Yes?" said Stella, interrogatively.
"The fact is," he said, hesitatingly, and he could have cursed himself for his hesitation and awkwardness—he who was never awkward or irresolute at other times—he who had faced the proud disdain of Lady Lenore and conquered it!—"the fact is that I have some business with your uncle. A client of mine is a patron of the fine arts. He is a very wealthy man, and he is anxious that Mr. Etheridge, whom he greatly admires, should paint him a picture on a subject which he has given to me! It is rather a difficult subject—I mean it will require some explanation as the picture progresses, and I have promised, if Mr. Etheridge will permit me, to give the explanation."
Stella nodded. She had taken up her work again, and bent over it, quite unconscious of the admiration with which the two pair of eyes were fixed on her—the guarded, passionate, wistful, longing in the man's, the open awe-felt admiration of the boy's.
"But," she said with a smile, "you know how—I was going to say obstinate—my uncle is; do you think he will paint it?"
"I hope to be able to persuade him," he said, with a modest smile. "Perhaps he will do it for me; I am an old friend, you know."
"Is it for you, then?" she asked.
"No, no," he said, quickly; "but this art-patron is a great friend of mine, and I have pledged myself to persuade Mr. Etheridge."
"I see," said Stella.