Mr. Haveloc not putting this interpretation upon the gesture, simply feared that Miss Fitzpatrick might be worse, rang the bell, was admitted, and entered.
Aveline was lying on the sofa, drawing upon a small stand placed on the table by her side. She extended her hand over the top of the stand to Mr. Haveloc, and assured him playfully that she had kept her word, and had told Mr. Lindsay no tales of her gay doings yesterday.
Mrs. Fitzpatrick shook hands with him in silence.
He went round to look at Aveline's drawing.
"Beautiful! Miss Fitzpatrick," he exclaimed; "how many strides have you made in art since you crossed the Alps?"
"Do you think so? Not so many," said Aveline, laying down her brush. "There is something wrong in the colouring of my sky. But those passion flowers; how splendid! Does your villa produce such treasures as these?"
"Will you come and see?" he said. "I do not know what Mrs. Fitzpatrick will say to my trying to entice you out again; but if you have really recovered your fatigue—"
"Perfectly," said Aveline; "in fact, I enjoyed myself so much that it quite counterbalanced the finale of the expedition."
"What do you say to it, Mrs. Fitzpatrick?" asked Mr. Haveloc, looking through his glass at Aveline's drawing. "A little indigo, I think, would set that sky all to rights."
"Do it for me," said Aveline, offering him a brush.