The unexpected always happens, often inopportunely. Winifred had risen from the ground by the stove and was standing miserably before her easel when a knock was heard at the studio door. She cried, “Come in!” and Kent entered. He was looking rather pale and worn out, his beard sinking ever so little into his cheeks; his eyes were tired. On seeing him Winifred could not restrain a start of surprise.
“Why, Mr. Kent! you here at this hour of the day!”
“Yes; I have just come back from the Museum. I went up to tell them I wasn't coming, as they say in Ireland. The fact is I am feeling lazy and want a few days' slackness.”
“You have been overworking yourself, that's what you have been doing,” said Winifred with kind severity. “Come and sit down by the stove and rest yourself. You want someone to look after you.”
She pulled the chair that Clytie had been occupying a little forward, by way of invitation.
“What a good little creature you are, Winifred,” he said as he sat down. “You always think of other people. Men don't seem able to do it; they are too much wrapped up in themselves. How are you all—you and the children? You must make them invite me to tea soon. I have not seen them for ages.”
“Oh, they are quite well again,” replied Winifred, brightening, “and they have been clamouring for Kent, as they call you. I'll tell them to send you an 'At Home' card. And it must be soon, for you are going abroad. When do you think of starting?”
Kent sighed and looked into the fire.
“I don't quite know yet; I wanted to see Clytie first. Where is she?”
“She has a visitor—in her sitting-room,” replied Winifred somewhat shortly.