“No, I have no answer,” he said. “It all seems to me very just. You came here to prevent a repetition of—of what occurred when I was last alone with Miss Ellington. Was not that it?”
Then suddenly Madge laughed; her head a little back, her eyes half-closed, and Evelyn, looking at her, gave a great triumphant explosion of sound.
“That is it—that is what I have been trying for!” he cried. “I never quite got it. But now I can.”
He had been painting before they came in, and he picked up the palette and dashed to the canvas.
“Hold that if you can for half a minute!” he cried. “I don’t ask for more. Look at me; your eyes have to be on me. Ah, it is a miracle!”
He looked once and painted; he looked and painted again. Then for the third time he looked, and looked long, but he painted no more.
“I have done it,” he said.
There was a long pause; he put his palette down again, and looked at Madge, as she stood there.
“Thank you,” he said. “That will do.”
Then Lady Ellington spoke.