"I can bat ask. If he refuses me, well and good. Of course I should not attempt to defy him--though I am by no means sure that he, or any one else, has the legal power to deny our copying nature's works, in man's possession though they may be. Never mind. Enough free objects will be left for me: such as that cliff, for example, and that glorious sea."
Mr. North rose as he spoke. At that same moment two of the Grey Ladies were crossing over from the Nunnery. Only one of them wore the dress of the community, Sister Margaret. The other was Miss Castlemaine, in her flowing mourning robes. Each of the ladies smiled kindly and gave the good-morrow to John Bent. George North lifted his straw hat with reverence, and kept it off until they should have passed.
Possibly the action, so uncharacteristic of most Englishmen, attracted particularly the attention of Mary Ursula. Bending slightly her head to acknowledge the courtesy, her eyes rested on the young man's face. Whether it was his action, whether it was anything she saw in the face that struck on her, certain it was that she half stopped to gaze upon him. She said nothing, however, but passed on.
"What a magnificent young woman!" cried Mr. North, when the ladies were out of hearing. "She is beautiful. I mean the lady in mourning: not the Sister."
"She is that, sir. It is Miss Castlemaine."
"Miss Castlemaine! Which Miss Castlemaine?"
"The late banker's daughter, sir. Niece to the Master of Greylands."
An hour later, the ladies went by again on their way homeward. John was outside his door still, but alone, with a white cap on his head. Miss Castlemaine accosted him.
"Who was that gentleman we saw here just now, Mr. Bent?"
"His name's North, madam: he is an artist."