"What do you mean?" demanded Dora, who thought Lorimer's remark somewhat out of place, and a little over-familiar.
"Come now, sit down here in front of me, your friend. You know I am a bit of a student of human nature, it is my stock-in-trade. My dear Dora, do not attempt to throw dust in your own eyes—you love Philip still; everything in this room testifies aloud to the feeling that you cannot stifle. Oh, do not start, do not deny it. If I am not right, what is the meaning of all this that I see around us?"
"In these surroundings I can evoke the Philip of the past, and that helps me to forget the Philip of the present."
"He is one and the same. He was changed for a few months; but to-day he is what he used to be, and what he will be always—the artist who loves you and longs for you. Dora, what have you to say in reply?"
"My head burns so, dear friend, spare me now. We will talk again ... but by and by."
A knock was heard at the door. "Oh, would you mind seeing who that is?—I am not expecting anyone," said Dora.
Dora threw an anxious look towards the door.
Lorimer went and opened it.
The visitor was no other than our old friend, Sir Benjamin Pond, City alderman and patron of arts in his spare moments.
He evidently expected to find himself in a hall or anteroom, instead of straightway standing in a studio in the presence of Dora and Lorimer. He was seized with a little fit of timidity, which he had difficulty in mastering, and which made him awkward in the extreme.