‘Which?’
‘That half-length of a lady which hangs in the morning-room. I remember seeing it in the Academy last year.’
Paula involuntarily closed herself up. The picture was her own portrait. ‘It does not belong to your series,’ she said somewhat coldly.
De Stancy’s secret thought was, I hope from my soul it will belong some day! He answered with mildness: ‘There is a sort of connection—you are my sister’s friend.’
Paula assented.
‘And hence, might not your friend’s brother photograph your picture?’
Paula demurred.
A gentle sigh rose from the bosom of De Stancy. ‘What is to become of me?’ he said, with a light distressed laugh. ‘I am always inconsiderate and inclined to ask too much. Forgive me! What was in my mind when I asked I dare not say.’
‘I quite understand your interest in your family pictures—and all of it,’ she remarked more gently, willing not to hurt the sensitive feelings of a man so full of romance.
‘And in that ONE!’ he said, looking devotedly at her. ‘If I had only been fortunate enough to include it with the rest, my album would indeed have been a treasure to pore over by the bivouac fire!’