"Ask her what the devil she wants."
The maid humbly withdrew. Having closed the studio door behind her she indulged in a few grimaces of a heartfelt and satisfying character, and after pausing to admire herself for a brief space in a Venetian mirror conveniently adjacent, returned to the drawing-room, where she took her stand before Miss Leslie with downcast eyes.
"Mr. Falconer sends his compliments, miss," she announced deferentially, "and would be very much obliged if you could say whether you wanted him particular, because he is painting a picture."
Jean Leslie smiled. She was wondering what Montagu really had said. But to the maid she merely replied:—
"Is the model there?"
"No, miss. Models go at five."
"Then say to Mr. Falconer that I should be greatly obliged if he could see me for a few minutes, as I wish to consult him upon an important matter."
When the maid had departed, Miss Leslie rose and walked to the window, through which the afternoon sun was shining. Peggy's tastes rather leaned to rose-coloured curtains and silk blinds. Jean Leslie arranged these to her liking. Then, having adjusted her hat to the proper angle, she sat down with her back to the light, and waited.
Presently Montagu entered.
"Well, Jean," he said affably,—he was flattered by his new rule of consultant,—"you are looking very smart to-day."