“Yes, sir; from Lady Somers Town.”
“What?” cried Dale, with a sigh of relief, though, to his agony, he felt that he longed to hear from the Contessa again.
“Lady Somers Town, sir; that’s what Mr Pacey used to call her. Miss Vere Montesquieu of the Kaiserinn.”
“Miss Vere Montesquieu!” said Dale contemptuously.
“Well, that’s what she calls herself, sir. Did you say what was her real name, sir?”
“No, I didn’t, but I thought it. Oh, by the way, Jaggs, I must have another sitting or two from you. We haven’t quite caught the expression of Jupiter’s lips.”
“No, sir, we haven’t, sir,” said the model, looking at the canvas wistfully. “I know azactly what you want, but it’s so hard to put it on.”
“It is, Jaggs.”
“You want him to be looking as he would if he was afraid of his missus, and she’d just found him out at one of his games.”
“That’s it.”