Something in his tone—a faint trace of mockery, it seemed to Paul—struck them both. Paul looked guilty of foolishness and the girl stood arrested. They both of them looked at Manning. That instant pose remained with Paul long afterwards as the key-note of their meeting. It was symbolic, somehow, as if Manning would always be faintly contemptuous of them. But why, the boy had no idea.
"Well," said Ursula, and she spoke so soon that it was as if there had been no pause, "I have not, it is true. I was only going to pack up because I can paint no more just now, thanks to you, Arnold, you old rotter. But I will do more now. Mr. Kestern, will you walk back with me, and see your picture?"
"May I?" asked Paul eagerly.
Manning thrust his hand into his arm. "What about the Mill cottage?" he asked banteringly.
"Oh, I clean forgot," said Paul, and hesitated.
His friend laughed. "Good Lord, Paul," he said, "a pretty sort of an agent you'll make! I was taking him to see his first job," he explained. "Old Morley wants a new roof, or something of that sort. But, of course, it doesn't matter. I was only rotting. We'll walk up with you, Ursula. That'll be the call, and on my own responsibility I'll invite you and my dear aunt in to bridge after dinner this very day."
"So he's going to be Mr. Tressor's agent," said Ursula, busy over her painting materials.
"Well," said Paul honestly and a little awkwardly, "it's only an excuse, I fear."
"Paul's to prove himself a poet," said Manning, "and incidentally to settle the theory and content of revelation. Perhaps you'll help him."
"Perhaps," said the girl serenely. "I hope so."