"Yes, Miss Murdock," he answered gravely. "I shall not have to trouble you to pose again."
Miss Murdock's attention was attracted by the melancholy note in his voice. She observed him from the corner of her eyes in kindly curiosity.
The artist fell into a moody silence. For a while he worked with feverish activity at the portrait; and then, gradually falling into a fit of melancholy abstraction, he sat, with poised brush, gazing intently at the beautiful girl before him. His task forgotten, he was apparently unconscious that he was taking advantage of his privileged position to stare at his fair subject. Agnes felt his burning glance and was embarrassed by it; but, womanlike, she retained control of herself, outwardly, at all events, as she uttered some commonplace remark, which broke the spell and brought the artist to his senses with a sharp consciousness of his rudeness. He replied to the young girl's question in a low, changed voice, and then relapsed into a gloomy silence. After an awkward interval he asked suddenly:
"Are you so very glad, Miss Murdock, that our sittings are almost over?"
"Why, no, Mr. Sprague," replied Agnes; "I did not mean that. Of course I shall be glad when the portrait is finished, because I wish to have it home and to let my friends see it. But I should be indeed ungrateful if I begrudged my poor little time and trouble, when yours have been so lavishly and so ungrudgingly spent."
"These sittings have been a source of so much pleasure to me," continued Sprague thoughtfully, "that I have selfishly overlooked the fact that they could only be an annoyance and a bore to you. I fear I have needlessly prolonged them."
"But indeed, Mr. Sprague, I assure you it has been anything but a bore to me to pose. I am sure I shall miss the pleasant morning hours I have spent here."
"They have been the happiest hours of my life," said Sprague earnestly in a low voice, "and now they are nearly gone——forever."
Agnes started slightly, blushed, and riveted her gaze upon the dainty white hands which lay clasped together in her lap. Her bosom rose and fell in quickened undulations.
"Why forever, Mr. Sprague?" she asked softly; "do you think of leaving New York?"