Quinney and Susan happened to be out. Posy, as usual, was dusting the china in the sanctuary. James entered the room.
"Good-morning, Mr. Miggott!"
"Good-morning, Miss—Posy!"
He had never called her Posy before. But she divined from the tenderness of his tone that her name must have passed his lips a thousand times.
They looked at each other diffidently. Posy stretched out her hand. She felt that this was due to an artist who might reasonably infer that he was not held in the highest esteem by his master's daughter. James hesitated for one moment only. Then he kissed her hand. She quivered. He ran his hungry lips along her slender wrist. She thrilled and sighed. He took her into his arms and kissed her masterfully, feeling her heart throbbing beneath his own.
Presently they discussed the future, although loath indeed to leave the present.
"What will father say?"
"Darling, you must let me deal with your father."
"Can you?"
"I think so. I am sure of it. We must be patient and very, very careful."