“Love, my dear Connie, is an appetite of the lower middle classes.”
“My dear Norma!” the other exclaimed, “I do wish Jimmie Padgate could hear you!”
Norma started at the name. “What has he got to do with the matter?”
“That's one of his pictures.”
“Oh, is it?” said Norma, indifferently. But feminine curiosity compelled a swift parting glance at the print.
“I imagine our guileless friend has a lot to learn,” she added. “A few truths about the ways of this wicked world would do him good.”
“I promised to go and look round his studio to-morrow morning; will you come and give him his first lesson?” asked Mrs. Deering, mischievously.
“Certainly not,” replied Norma.
But the destiny she had previously remarked upon seemed to be fulfilling itself. A day or two afterwards his familiar figure burst upon her at a Private View in a small picture-gallery. His eyes brightened as she withdrew from her mother, who was accompanying her, and extended her hand.
“Dear me, who would have thought of seeing you here? Do you care for pictures? Why have n't you told me? I am so glad.”