“That is all you know,” said Jim. “Your hair has been painted by the light of the morning.”
Jim Lascelles laid down his charcoal and took up the brush that on a day was to make him famous. He dipped it in bright yellow pigment; and although, as all the world knows, the hair of Araminta, Duchess of Dorset, is unmistakably auburn, Jim began by flinging a splotch of yellow upon the great canvas.
“Goose Girl,” said Jim, with an expression of joy that made him seem preposterously fine to look at, “I have sometimes felt that if it should ever be my luck to happen upon a great subject, I might turn out a painter.”
“Your mamma always said you would,” said Miss Perry.
“And your papa always said you would marry an earl,” said Jim Lascelles.
Quite suddenly the blue drawing-room vibrated with a note of triumph.
“Oh, Jim! I’ve almost forgotten to tell you about my lilac frock.”
“Have you a lilac frock?”
“You remember the mauve that Muffin had?” said Miss Perry, breathlessly.
“After my time,” said Jim Lascelles. “But I pity a mauve on the Ragamuffin.”