Alice was looking at one of the sketches which were pretty plentifully pinned about the wall, and apparently seeing it and apparently listening to what Professor Saintsbury was saying; but her mother believed from a tremor of the ribbons on her hat that she was conscious of nothing but young Mavering's gaze and the sound of his voice. “We've been delighted, simply enchanted,” said Mrs. Pasmer. And she thought; “Now if Alice were to turn round just as she stands, he could see all the best points of her face. I wonder what she really thinks of him? What is it you have there; Alice?” she asked aloud. The girl turned her face over her shoulder so exactly in the way her mother wished that Mrs. Pasmer could scarcely repress a cry of joy. “A sketch of Mr. Mavering's.” “Oh, how very interesting!” said Mrs. Pasmer. “Do you sketch, Mr. Mavering? But of course.” She pressed forward, and studied the sketch inattentively. “How very, very good!” she buzzed deep in her throat, while, with a glance at her daughter, she thought, “How impassive Alice is! But she behaves with great dignity. Yes. Perhaps that's best. And are you going to be an artist?” she asked of Mavering. “Not if it can be prevented,” he answered, laughing again. “But his laugh is very pleasant,” reflected Mrs. Pasmer. “Does Alice dislike it so much?” She repeated aloud, “If it can be prevented?” “They think I might spoil a great lawyer in the attempt.” “Oh, I see. And are you going to be a lawyer? But to be a great painter! And America has so few of them.” She knew quite well that she was talking nonsense, but she was aware, through her own indifference to the topic that he was not minding what she said, but was trying to bring himself into talk with Alice again. The girl persistently listened to Professor Saintsbury. “Is she punishing him for something?” her mother asked herself. “What can it be for. Does she think he's a little too pushing? Perhaps, he is a little pushing.” She reflected, with an inward sigh, that she would know whether he was if she only knew more about him. He did the honours of his room very simply and nicely, and he said it was pretty rough to think this was the last of it. After which he faltered, and something occurred to Mrs Saintsbury. “Why, we're keeping you! It's time for you to dress for the Tree. John”--she reproached her husband--“how could you let us do it?” “Far be it from me to hurry ladies out of other people's houses--especially ladies who have put themselves in charge of other people.” “No, don't hurry,” pleaded Mavering; “there's plenty of time.” “How much time?” asked Mrs. Saintsbury. He looked at his watch. “Well, a good quarter of an hour.” “And I was to have taken Mrs. Pasmer and Alice home for a little rest before the Tree!” cried Mrs Saintsbury. “And now we must go at once, or we shall get no sort of places.”