At this question, whose simplicity might have made an angel smile, Hilary experienced a sensation as if his bones had been turned to water. It was strange--delicious--as though he had been suddenly offered all that he wanted of her, without all those things that he did not want. He stood regarding her silently. Her cheeks and neck were red; there was a red tinge, too, in her eyelids, deepening the “chicory-flower” colour of her eyes. She began to speak, repeating a lesson evidently learned by heart. “I wouldn't be in your way. I wouldn't cost much. I could do everything you wanted. I could learn typewriting. I needn't live too near, or that; if you didn't want me, because of people talking; I'm used to being alone. Oh, Mr. Dallison, I could do everything for you. I wouldn't mind anything, and I'm not like some girls; I do know what I'm talking about.” “Do you?” The little model put her hands up, and, covering her face, said: “If you'd try and see!” Hilary's sensuous feeling almost vanished; a lump rose in his throat instead. “My child,” he said, “you are too generous!” The little model seemed to know instinctively that by touching his spirit she had lost ground. Uncovering her face, she spoke breathlessly, growing very pale: “Oh no, I'm not. I want to be let come; I don't want to stay here. I know I'll get into mischief if you don't take me--oh, I know I will!” “If I were to let you come with me,” said Hilary, “what then? What sort of companion should I be to you, or you to me? You know very well. Only one sort. It's no use pretending, child, that we've any interests in common.” The little model came closer. “I know what I am,” she said, “and I don't want to be anything else. I can do what you tell me to, and I shan't ever complain. I'm not worth any more!” “You're worth more,” muttered Hilary, “than I can ever give you, and I'm worth more than you can ever give me.”