“Well, you have put your foot in it.”
“What’s the harm? I promised a model; he failed, and I went myself.”
“Oh, no particular harm,” said Jack, coolly; “no harm at all, I dare say; only if I had happened to do such a thing—”
“You!” repeated Everitt, looking at Jack. Put in this manner, the idea certainly appeared intolerable. “You! Oh, you’re different.”
“I should say I was. I shall never pull up to your heights of audacity, that’s certain. What’s your next move? Are you going again?”
“No,” curtly. “To-morrow I shall send Jackson.”
Jack had a good many more jests to cut, which the other endured with what meekness he could muster. It was annoying that the young fellow should have made the discovery, for it would inevitably serve as a means for plaguing Everitt whenever the artist tried to get Master Jack into steady work. Moreover, the way in which he looked at it made Everitt a little uneasy; it had not before struck him that others might regard it in that attitude, which had, indeed, been far enough from his own point of view.
In the afternoon he went to his cousin’s in Hans Place. She welcomed him with excessive cordiality and some surprise.
“For a wonder I find you alone,” he said.
“That sounds,” she said, “as if you were in the habit of trying to find me. Shall we go into dates, or would you rather throw yourself on my mercy?”