Once more the young girl's expressive eyes fixed their gaze upon the delicate hands in her lap, and once more there was a scarcely perceptible flutter beneath the lace which lay upon her white throat.
The artist sat with intent eyes fixed upon her.
"Of course I shall be pleased to have you call at any time, Mr. Sprague," she said after a brief instant.
What more could any sane man expect a modest girl to say? It is not so much the words spoken as the manner of their utterance that conveys meaning. But it is a truism that a lover is not a sane man. Sprague was not yet satisfied. He was about to speak again, when a knock sounded upon the door.
It was the hall-boy with a letter.
"Miss Murdock?" he inquired, glancing in the direction of the young girl.
"For me?" exclaimed Agnes, surprised.
"Yes, Miss; a gentleman left it for you."
Agnes took the letter, inspected it curiously for an instant; then, excusing herself, she tore open the envelope and unfolded the note which it contained.
At once a deep flush suffused her face, and an expression of annoyance passed over her features. She glanced up hastily at Sprague, who was apparently hard at work upon the background of the picture.