"For my sake," she finally heard Mrs. Deering say in a pleading voice.
"Dear my lady, is it just to put it on that ground?"
"But if you will hear to it on no other," she argued.
"Think what it is you ask of me. To leave my tower and my man Friday for a luxurious household with plethoric master and servants; to stagnate for a week among those ridiculous people who fill San Real in the summer; and all this not because it will do me or any one else any good, but to the end that I may begin the portraits I have already refused to paint. You know that I am not suited to that sort of hack work. How can I make a picture of that over-fed Shallop or his pinched, good little wife?"
"But our work cannot all be that which is best suited to us--"
"It should be--"
"Remember, Graham, that in three weeks the payment for the studio is due--"
"Ah, kindest one! you never forget me; bless you for your sweetness and thoughtfulness. Yes, I will go and do my best to make Shallop look like something other than an ex-blacksmith, but it is indeed bitter."
"You will find that there will be compensations," said Mrs. Deering, her eyes resting on the pretty group on the piazza: Barbara sitting at Millicent's feet, and Hal reaching up to pluck a spray of honeysuckles for her hair.
CHAPTER V.