Sir Eustace laughed in his slightly supercilious way. "Do you know who is responsible for those pretty sketches, my red, red rose?"
She glanced up nervously. "Not—not—are they yours, Scott?"
"They are," said Scott, with a smile.
She met his eyes for an instant, and was surprised by their gravity. "Oh, I do like them," she said. "I wonder I didn't guess. They are so beautifully finished, so—complete."
"I am glad you like them," said Scott. "I thought you might want to turn them out as lumber."
"As if I should!" she said. "I love them—every one of them. I shall love them better still now I know they are yours."
"Thank you," said Scott.
Eustace turned his attention to him. "No one ever paid you such a compliment as that before, my good Stumpy," he observed. "If everyone saw you in that light, you'd be a great artist by now."
"I wonder," said Scott.
Dinah sent him another swift glance. She seemed on the verge of speech, but checked herself, and there fell a brief silence.