“What’s the matter, dear?” she cried. “Has something happened?”
Jimmy Lethbridge pulled himself together; he didn’t want her to suspect anything yet.
“Good heavens, no!” he laughed. “What should have? But I want to borrow something from you, Molly dear, and I don’t want you to ask any questions. I want you to lend me that photograph of Peter that you’ve got—the one in full dress.”
And now she was staring at him wonderingly.
“Jimmy,” she said breathlessly, “does it concern the present?”
“Yes; it concerns the present.”
“You’re going to have a picture of him painted for me?”
“Something like that,” he answered quietly.
“Oh, you dear!” she whispered, “you dear! I’ve been thinking about it for months. I’ll get it for you.”
She went upstairs, and the man stood still in the hall staring after her. And he was still standing motionless as she came down again, the precious frame clasped in her hands.