"We must try the pose in my studio."
Jean also saw the dawn of hope.
"May I inquire what you are talking about?" demanded her father.
"Miss Walkingshaw has promised to sit to me for her portrait," explained the artist. "We were trying one or two positions."
Mr. Walkingshaw breathed somewhat heavily, but said nothing. Jean's color began to subside.
"Mr. Vernon was arranging my hands," she contributed towards his enlightenment.
Mr. Vernon was now gazing on her in the attitude which he had learnt from plays and poems conveyed to the laity the best conception of artistic fervor.
"The head a little more to the right!" he exclaimed. "The hands crossed! A smile, please! Now, sir, how do you like that?"
Mr. Walkingshaw ignored the question altogether and addressed his daughter.