“‘Stuff!’ I said. ‘Do you think I’m going to be painted?’
“‘Why, what are you going to do, then?’ he asked in an astonished way.
“‘Let him paint little Cobweb,’ I said, chuckling, and rubbing my hands.
“Smith gave a long whistle, and his fingers twitched as if he were mending a sewing machine, and after a few more words he left.
“It did not strike me then, but I remarked afterwards that he seemed disposed to draw back from his proposal; but I was now so wrapped up in my plans that I could think of nothing but the picture in the wood, and I went home full of it, meaning it for a surprise.
“Two days later one of the servants announced a Mr Grantly on business, and, on his being shown in, I found myself face to face with a handsome, grave-looking man of about thirty. He was rather shabbily dressed, and looked pale and ill as he bowed to Cobweb and myself, ending by staring at my child, as I thought, in rather a peculiar way.
“This annoyed me—a stout, choleric, elderly man—for no one had a right to look at my Cobweb but me and I spoke rather testily as I said—
“‘Now, sir, when you please, I am at your service.’
“‘I beg your pardon,’ he said, in a low voice. ‘Miss Burrows, I presume. One moment, please—don’t move.’
“Cobweb was sitting in the bay-window, and, to my utter astonishment, he quickly drew one of the curtains, and then half closed another, so that the light fell strongly upon her hair.