"Oh, you are too tiresome. I shall never get this finished," grumbled Mary, concentrating herself so vigorously on the drawing that she absent-mindedly erased the last vestiges of it. She took up her plumb-line and held it in front of her cast and became absorbed in contemplating it.
"You haven't answered my question, Miss Friscoe," whispered Bertie pertinaciously.
"What question?"
"When are you going to lend me your face?"
"Look, there's Mr. Biskett going home already!"
"Hang Mr. Biskett! I say, Mary——" he began passionately.
"How are you getting on, Mr. Smythe?" came the creaking voice of Potts, the drawing-master, behind him.
"Pretty well, thank you; how's yourself?" mechanically replied Bertie, greatly flustered by his inopportune arrival.
Potts stared and Mary burst into a ringing laugh.
"Look at my drawing, Mr. Potts," she said. "It will come so funny."