"Put it out of its pain," he said.
A faint shadow of that hypnotic power, which Peter had so long suspected and, finally, developed in himself, supported her.
"If you are, as I believe you to be, a true artist under your skin," and she kept very still, "you will practise the restraint which should enable you to put your picture before your—passions. I have stood long enough for to-day."
She turned swiftly and retreated through the trees; nor did he attempt to call her back.
* * * * * *
Towards the end of the week Cyprian, who had left Ferlie at the Club surrounded by a new batch of English papers, and ridden out, himself, to an inspection connected with his work at some distance, returned late in the afternoon, to find her missing.
"Your sister, Mr. Sterne? No. She only stayed at the Club about a quarter of an hour."
Someone had seen her walking towards the river-path.
"Then I'll go home that way, skirting the hill," said Cyprian. "The servant met me with a telegram for her, having been to the bungalow and found her out."
He rode slowly off, flicking at the flies with his crop. Once on the narrow path above the bank he let the horse pick its own way. The back compounds of one or two bungalows, set far apart, straggled to the bushy slope above the water, but the vicinity of the river was too feverish in the evening to be popular, and it struck Cyprian as particularly unwise of Ferlie to choose this spot for a walk, in her present languid state of health.