“Where?” said Maisie, wearily. She had been standing before her easel too long, and was very tired.
“Anywhere you please. We'll take a train tomorrow and see where it stops. We'll have lunch somewhere, and I'll bring you back in the evening.”
“If there's a good working light tomorrow, I lose a day.” Maisie balanced the heavy white chestnut palette irresolutely.
Dick bit back an oath that was hurrying to his lips. He had not yet learned patience with the maiden to whom her work was all in all.
“You'll lose ever so many more, dear, if you use every hour of working light. Overwork's only murderous idleness. Don't be unreasonable. I'll call for you tomorrow after breakfast early.”
“But surely you are going to ask——”
“No, I am not. I want you and nobody else. Besides, she hates me as much as I hate her. She won't care to come. Tomorrow, then; and pray that we get sunshine.”
Dick went away delighted, and by consequence did no work whatever.
He strangled a wild desire to order a special train, but bought a great gray kangaroo cloak lined with glossy black marten, and then retired into himself to consider things.
“I'm going out for the day tomorrow with Dick,” said Maisie to the red-haired girl when the latter returned, tired, from marketing in the Edgware road.