"I shouldn't have accepted it," she said, smiling down at him. "But I'll paint you a picture, Blair; I will do it after I have finished this. Business must be attended to, you know, my lord."
He laughed.
"I wonder what he'll give you for that, Madge?" he said. "He ought to give you a hundred pounds. It's worth it. I'd give you a thousand if you'd let me."
"You'd ruin yourself, we all know," she said lightly, scarcely paying any heed to what she said, then as she saw him wince she dropped her brush and put her arm round his neck penitently.
"Oh, Blair, I meant nothing!" she murmured.
"I know, I know, dearest!" he said gravely. "But your light words reminded me of the fool I have been. But that is all altered now. Do you know that I have not made a single bet since—since you gave yourself to me? No! And I'm living as steady an existence as that man who always went home to tea. Austin says it won't and can't last; but we shall see."
It was always Austin. Scarcely ten sentences without his name cropping up.
"I don't see why Mr. Ambrose should discourage you, Blair," she said, smiling. "But you can prove him in the wrong all the more triumphantly," she added.
He laughed as he kissed her, telling her that she was his good angel, and that while she would continue to love him he was all right; but when he had gone, and she sat listening to his departing footsteps, she pondered over Austin Ambrose's words.
The next two days she worked hard at her picture, and on the third day finished it.