Gwen came and stood beside her husband, and looked from one to the other of the sketches. “Now in this first one,” she said, “the girl looks as if she were pre-ordained to the _rôle_ of bride; in this other one, as you observe, she does _not_, but she is me. I am so sorry to disillusion you of your idea.” “You have not,” said Brydon softly, “only showed her many-sidedness.” “I can get my wedding dress over,” said Gwen, with a touch of malice about her mouth, “shall I, and give you a few sittings in the character of bride?” “No, thank you, Lady Strange,” said the boy, with admirable coolness, “I shall stick to the ideal for my picture, I will work hard on it. And when it is finished, will you have it, Strange?” “Will I? The deuce I will! It would be a magnificent present without another stroke of work in it.” “What will you call it, Humphrey?” asked his wife. “I shall call it ‘The Incognita’.” “Mr. Brydon, tea is getting cold all this time, and I am so thirsty,” she said with serene imperiousness, turning from the sketches and going over to the little table. “I hope you are as good at making tea as you are at making brides,” she went on mockingly. “Sugar? Yes, please, two lumps, and—galette? How delicious! I do like French cake.” “Lady Strange, you said you would sit to me as a bride, did you mean it?” “I did,” she said amusedly. The ungainly-looking boy with his great saving clauses of eyes and his queer red blushes and open admiration of herself, gave her a sensation of interest. “Would you sit just once in that dress—or any other you like? You don’t know how good of you it would be.” “Is it such a boon then when I require such an amount of idealization?” “Lady Strange!” he murmured reproachfully, with ludicrous woe. “Ah, well, then, I will sit for you—where—here?” “Oh, not here! Did you think I would have the cheek to ask you to climb these steps to sit for me? Anywhere you arrange for me to come.” “Then come to our hotel, but I know my husband intends to ask you to dine with us to-day so we can then settle the time.” “Thank you more than awfully!” he cried with most unaffected fervour, “it’s such a boon for a fellow like me to get a lady; we can get more or less colour and lovely flesh, you know, to paint from in the cheap models, but then they are _grisette_ to the very marrow. Besides, it is not safe with Legrun even to experiment on them. We must learn to draw before we go about libelling even models, he says, ‘Poor devils, they have enough to put up without that!’ So you can see what an inestimable benefit you are bestowing on me. Strange, do you notice my walls? Not a rag to break the monotony.” “I do; I thought the sternness of Art had come on you prematurely.”