CHAPTER XXVI
THE RIVALS
It was five o'clock on a fine spring afternoon. The model had just resumed his ordinary raiment and departed, and Montagu Falconer was cleaning his palette. To him entered a timorous maid.
"If you please, sir, Miss Leslie has called."
"That is quite possible," replied Montagu calmly, "but it does not interest me."
"But she wants to see you, sir."
"I fear I cannot oblige her. It is Miss Marguerite's duty to receive afternoon callers."
"Miss Marguerite is out, and Miss Leslie specially asked for you, sir," persisted the maid, trembling beneath her employer's cold blue eye.
Montagu Falconer ruminated for some moments. Unfortunately he omitted to remove his eye from the maid, and that sensitive young person was on the verge of an hysterical yell when he turned upon his heel and said curtly:—