"Never heard the lady's name before you mentioned it," said Trenholme.
"Mebbe not, but it strikes me you've seen more of her than most folk."
"Eliza," he cried, without any pretense at smiling good humor, "you've been sneaking!"
"Sneakin', you call it? I 'appened to pass your room, an' who could help lookin' in? I was never so taken aback in me life. You could ha' knocked me down with a feather."
"An ostrich feather with an ostrich's leg behind it," was the angry retort.
Eliza's eyes glinted with the fire of battle.
"The shameless ways of girls nowadays!" she breathed. "To let any young man gaze at her in them sort of clothes, if you can call 'em clothes!"
"It was an accident. She didn't know I was there. Anyhow, you dare utter another word about that picture, even hint at its existence, and I'll paint you without any clothes at all. I mean that, so beware!"
"Sorry to interrupt," said a high-pitched voice from the doorway. "You are Mr. John Trenholme, I take it? May I come in? My name's Furneaux."
"Jim, of the Royal Artillery?" demanded Trenholme angrily.