"Oh, well, we can't all keep our noses eternally to the grindstone like you do, old chap. I think we're getting along splendidly."
But Jack was not to be thus pacified.
"I don't want to waste this morning. Do you think Miss Stornway will be coming, Geoff?"
"Surely," rejoined that young man, turning from the open window from whence he had been watching the passers-by in the street below. "She would have sent a message, as she did yesterday, if she still felt too unwell."
And in a very few minutes his faith was justified; Evarne appeared at the farther end of the street. He watched her as she drew near, noting how she showed graceful and dignified amid the crowd. Although the studio was on the third floor, the summer air was so clear that, as she drew nearer, he could see her features quite distinctly. Some attraction drew her gaze upwards, and she waved her hand in greeting, whereupon he ran downstairs and met her at the garden gate.
Her dress fitted exquisitely over her lovely figure; it was of pink cambric, made according to her individual fancy in costume. Its rich hue emphasised her dark eyes and flawless complexion as none other could have done, while her simple straw hat was wreathed with blush roses. Geoff had never yet beheld her clad from head to foot in shades of pink, and thus arrayed, apart from all question of personal affection, she must have been a sheer delight to any artist's eye.
"I'm afraid I'm dreadfully late," she said apologetically to Jack and Pallister on gaining the studio. "Please forgive me, and you shall just see how quickly I can get into those Greek robes when I like."
"You must sit down first and have a rest after your walk," insisted Geoff, while Pallister declared gaily—
"Don't trouble about me. You're going to have a rival this morning."
"A rival! This is very serious."