"Eh, for all the world like a great basin of hot starch, isn't it? I've often thought so," said she, good-humoredly.
Her prompt exit into the farm-house allowed the smiles to broaden at will on the countenances of four of her five auditors.
"Oh, Mab," said Claud, with tears in his eyes, "what a slap in the face for your sentiment!"
"I'm not sure that it's not a very apt illustration," cried Wyn, when she could speak. "It is really just the same color, and the dip of the valley holds it like a basin! Imaginative Mrs. Battishill!"
"You draw, I think, Miss Allonby?" said Mr. Fowler.
"Yes, I am very fond of it," she answered.
"You will be able to do some sketching, now that your mind is at ease about your brother."
"Yes; but I am a poor hand at landscape. That is Osmond's province. I prefer heads. I should like," she paused, and fixed her eyes on Elsa, "I should like to paint Miss Brabourne."
Elsa started as if she had been shot. Up rushed the ungoverned color to face, throat, and neck. She could not believe the hearing of her ears.
"To paint me?" she cried. The water swam in her glorious eyes. "Are you making game of me?" she passionately asked.