“You should never have thought that of me,” she said. “You might have known I would come eventually. If uncle hadn’t been so furious about it I should have come sooner, but I had to use my discretion and wait. The first time I suggested a visit he flung out of the room in a temper. I fear you have done for yourself, dear, so far as your father is concerned.”
St. John looked moody, and seeing his change of countenance, she hastened to turn the subject.
“Jack,” she said, “I am awfully low-spirited—I suppose I have missed you rather. I want you to take me out to tea somewhere and cheer me up if you can.”
St. John swallowed the bait. The idea of a diversion was pleasing to him, and the knowledge that he had been missed gratified his vanity.
“Dear little girl, of course I will,” he answered. “I’ll just go and put it all right with Thompkins, and then I’ll be at your service. Jill’s in the studio. You saw her though, didn’t you?”
Miss Bolton flushed.
“Ye-es,” she answered hesitatingly, “for a minute. Make haste, Jack dear; I am so impatient to be off. While you are gone I will look at these abominable photographs. I meant to let you take mine to-day, but I object to being caricatured.”
“You must let Jill paint you,” he said, “She’s first class at portrait painting and would like to get some customers.”
“One day,” the girl answered vaguely, “perhaps I will.”
St. John hurried out, and Miss Bolton turned with languid interest to inspect the portraits round the walls. When her cousin returned he discovered her intently scrutinising a cabinet photograph of Mr Markham.