“Why, of course; it will be delightful,” she assented readily, rising from her chair to help him find the tea caddy. “I’m eternally indebted, Mr. Fox; he’s going to let me off a half-hour’s posing,” she added, smiling over her shoulder at him.
He laughed, moving over apparently to study the half outlined portrait on the easel, but really enjoying the sight of the graceful figure bending over the table, and her delicate hands engaged in opening the caddy and measuring the tea into Allestree’s old tea-pot. As she did so the light from the window fell vividly on her bright head, and the exquisite details of her profile, the curve of her cheek and chin, the thick lashed white eyelids, the short upper lip, the little pink ear, all engaged Fox’s critical and appreciative eye. Like most men who are forced to live in bachelor apartments, he felt keenly the domesticity of the little scene and the touch of gracious femininity which her presence lent to the tea-table. There was a charm, too, in her unconsciousness, and he was almost sorry when she finally turned with a steaming cup in her hands.
“You’ll have to take lemon,” she said, “for Robert never has cream unless it’s sour, but do you take sugar?”
“He takes three lumps to a cup,” interposed Allestree bluntly; “but he’ll probably deny it—he’s a politician.”
Fox laughed. “And in the house of my friends!” he said; “but that is only a coup d’état on his part,” he added, “to keep me from asking for his last lump, Miss Temple; I saw him looking for more just now.”
“We’ll draw lots for it, Robert,” said Rose gayly, taking her seat at the table and smiling across at Fox from pure pleasure in the little unconventional picnic.
But Allestree’s attention had been arrested by something in the street below, and he interrupted them with a gesture of despair. “Mrs. Osborne is coming!” he announced with a grimace.
Rose glanced hastily at the clock. “Oh, I must be going,” she exclaimed; “I had no idea it was so late!” and she rose hurriedly and reached for her hat.
Allestree murmured something uncomplimentary to his approaching visitor, and Fox set down his cup of tea. The first tremor of an earthquake shock could scarcely have broken up the little group more abruptly. Rose had put on her hat and adjusted her filmy veil, and it was Fox who helped her with her coat and her furs. Allestree, instead, threw a cloth over the picture on the easel.
Rose held out her hand. “Good-by,” she said with a charming smile; “I know I’m a trying model, but you’re a perfect angel of patience, Robert.”