“I’m sure he would.”
Philip paused a moment.
“Send him a note, or I will,” he said. “I shouldn’t go to-morrow, if I were you, because I know he is busy.”
“Ah! what a pity,” said Lady Ellington, lowering her voice a little. “I have nothing to do to-morrow afternoon.”
“I know he is busy,” repeated Philip. “He told me so.”
“And Madge’s portrait,” she said, “when shall we see that? It is quite finished, is it not?”
Suddenly the preposterous idea occurred to Philip that he was being pumped. No doubt it was only Madge’s rather ridiculous request that her mother should not know that she was going to sit again that suggested it, but still it was there. On this point also he had given his promise to her, and he went warily in this time of trouble.
“I fancy he is going to work a little more at it,” he said, anxious to tell the truth as far as possible. “Indeed, he told me so to-day. But he said that if I sent for it in a couple of days it would be ready for me to take.”
It was quite clear, therefore—indeed, the letter that had so providentially come into her hands told her that—that Philip knew that Madge was going to sit again to-morrow. The letter anyhow had told her that she was going to sit again; Philip’s suggestion that she herself should not go to see his portrait to-morrow was quite sufficiently confirmatory of the rest. He had not told her, it is true, that Madge was going to do this, but it would answer her purpose well enough. There was only one thing more to ask.
“I think Madge said she would not sit for him again,” she observed.