"'I can't stop no longer,' she explained; 'I've got to go up to Monkshurst for William Jones.'
"'Monkshurst? Is that where the polite Mr. Monk resides?'
"'Yes; up in the wood,' she replied, with a grimace expressive of no little dislike.
"'Is Mr. Monk a friend of yours?'
"Her answer was a very decided negative. Then, slouching to the door, she swung herself down to the ground. I followed, and stood on the threshold, looking down at her.
"'Don't forget that I'm to paint your picture,' I said. 'When will you come back?'
"'To-morrow, may be.'
"'I shall expect you. Good-by!'
"'Good-by, master,' she returned, reaching up to shake hands.
"I watched her as she walked away toward the road, and noticed that she took bold strides like a boy. On reaching the road, she looked back and laughed, then she drew herself together, and began running like a young deer, with little or nothing of her former clumsiness, until she disappeared among the sand-hills.