“Is your master in?” she asked.
Gerald laughed. “I am my own master,” he said.
“This is Mr. Leigh, aunt,” said Eugenia, coming forward.
“Oh!” said Mrs. Cathcart, and the palpable meaning of that exclamatory monosyllable sent the blood to Eugenia’s cheek.
Gerald started as he heard the girl’s voice and recognized her in the shadow. He stretched out his clay-covered hand, then withdrew it and laughed. Mrs. Cathcart, who saw the action, put on a look of supreme astonishment; then she recovered herself.
“Oh, I forgot,” she said to Eugenia. “Of course, you have seen Mr. Leigh before. May we come in, Mr. Leigh?”
He moved aside and the ladies entered the studio. He placed his two chairs at their disposal. He wondered the while what had brought Eugenia to him. He gave her a questioning glance, but her eyes avoided his. Then Mrs. Cathcart began. She spoke in that manner which certain persons assume towards those whom they are pleased to think their inferiors.
“I believe, some time ago, you made a bust of my late brother-in-law, Mr. Herbert, of Coombe-Acton.”
Gerald bowed.
“I wish to have a copy of it. Can you make one?”