“Pictures,” he declared sententiously, “don’t sell!”
“Mine do,” she answered, smiling. “I have had a check for three guineas from a shop in London for a little sea piece I did in two afternoons!”
He regarded her admiringly.
“You are a wonderful child!” he exclaimed.
“I am not a child at all,” she interrupted warmly, “and you can just sit down and write to your silly client and tell him so.”
“I will certainly write to him,” he affirmed. “I will do so today. You will not do anything rash until I have had time to get a reply?”
“No!” she answered graciously. “I will wait for a week. After that—well, I might do anything!”
“You wouldn’t leave Tredowen, Miss Juliet!” he protested.
“It would break my heart, of course,” she declared, “but I would do it and trust to time to heal it up again. Tredowen seems like home to me, but it isn’t really, you know. Some day, Sir Wingrave Seton may want to come back and live there himself. Are you quite certain, Mr. Pengarth, that he won’t be angry to hear that we have been living at the house all this time?”
“Certain,” Mr. Pengarth declared firmly. “He left everything entirely in my hands. He did not wish me to let it, but he did not care about its being altogether uninhabited. The arrangement I was able to make with your guardian was a most satisfactory one.”