Their hilarity was dissipated suddenly, and grave looks were bestowed on Eddie’s digits, until Flo’s little voice arose like a strain of sweet music to dissipate the clouds.
“Oh! never mind,” she said; “I’s got anuzzer pot in my bag.”
This had been forgotten. The fact was verified by swift examination, and felicity was restored.
“What are you going to photograph?” asked Milly, seeing that Archie was busy making arrangements.
“You, Cousin Milly. You’ve no notion what a splendid couple you and Mr Barret look—stuck up so picturesquely on that little mound, with its rich foreground of bracken, and the grey rock beside you, and the peep through the bushes, with Big Ben for a background; and the easel, too—so suggestive! There, now, I’m ready. By the way, I might take you as a pair of lovers!”
Poor Milly became scarlet, and suddenly devoted herself to the lusus naturae! Barret took refuge in a loud laugh, and then said:
“Really, one would suppose that you were a professional, Archie; you order your sitters about with such self-satisfied presumption.”
“Yes, they always do that,” said Milly, recovering herself, and looking calmly up from the cow—which now resembled a megatherium—“but you must remember, Cousin Archie, that I am a painter, and therefore understand about attitudes, and all that, much better than a mere photographer. So, if I condescend to sit, you must take your orders from me!”
“Fire away then with your orders,” cried the impatient amateur.
“See, sir, I will sit thus—as if painting,” said Milly, who was desperately anxious to have it over, lest Archie should make some awkward proposition. “Mr Barret will stand behind me, looking earnestly at the picture—”