"No, I take good looks when he don't see, then go and draw awhile; it's good practise, and he has such a strong, clear face, and splendidly shaped head, that I have to work hard to make my picture good, and I find it is helping me a great deal," said Olive, with never a thought of doing a thing that might be termed romantic.
"How nice, and may I see it?"
"Yes, when it is done."
"And may I see it?" inquired a new voice, that made them both start and turn, to see Roger Congreve coming down the gallery.
"Did you hear?" asked Olive, looking a little vexed; and Jean opened her mouth to say something, then shut it in a hurry.
"No, I didn't except the last two sentences; but from the way you both look, I think it must be something that I ought to hear," answered the gentleman, sitting down on Jean's divan with a laugh.
"Tell him," whispered Jean, and as Olive looked up, and saw his head with gleams of sunshine falling across it, she realized the advantage of having it to look at steadily, and how grand his forehead was.
"Yes, I'd just as soon tell you as not," she said frankly. "I've been taking a sketch of your head."
"Have you indeed," he exclaimed, with a sudden light in his face that Olive could not understand, if indeed, she thought anything about it.
"Yes, it makes a splendid study, but I haven't made much progress, because I've had so few chances."