"May I put my daffodils into water—I should be sorry to see them fade?" she asked at length.
For answer Geoff impulsively seized a bunch of roses by their unhappy heads, whipped them out of their vase and flung them aside.
"Put your flowers here," he said.
"You need not have done that," suggested Evarne somewhat reproachfully. "There was plenty of room for my daffodils beside your roses."
There was another pause.
"Do you believe in omens?" asked Geoff suddenly.
"I hardly know," was the uninspiring response.
Once more came a pause of considerable duration. Conversation between these two, neither usually gauche or dull-witted, seemed to consist of brief, somewhat inane remarks, interlarded with long periods of silence. But these protracted intervals were strangely devoid of any unpleasant feeling of restraint.
Meeting Geoffrey's grey eyes fixed full upon her, Evarne instinctively smiled at him, slowly and serenely as was her wont. The young man rose from his chair with an abrupt start, and, crossing over to his easel, commenced to sort out brushes.
"I, too, am going to paint from you, Miss Stornway," he explained with his back to her, "but my friend must arrange your pose. He has got an order for the picture. I can't think what is keeping him."