She had allowed herself more than sufficient time for finding her goal, and was ushered by an elderly charwoman into an empty studio. She sat down patiently to wait, picking up the day's newspaper to pass the time until Mr. Hardy should arrive. Gradually the feeling assailed her that she was being watched. At length the conviction became sufficiently strong to cause her to lower her paper and look round. There, sure enough, in an open doorway, stood a young man. She rose rather suddenly to her feet. This was presumably Mr. Danvers. "Excuse my staring so hard," said Geoff rather awkwardly, as he came forward. "I didn't mean to startle you." "I'm here to be looked at, you know," was the smiling retort, and then a confused silence prevailed. Any embarrassment before strangers was an unusual experience, and Evarne found herself consciously casting around in her mind for something to say. "May I put my daffodils into water--I should be sorry to see them fade?" she asked at length. For answer Geoff impulsively seized a bunch of roses by their unhappy heads, whipped them out of their vase and flung them aside. "Put your flowers here," he said. "You need not have done that," suggested Evarne somewhat reproachfully. "There was plenty of room for my daffodils beside your roses." There was another pause. "Do you believe in omens?" asked Geoff suddenly. "I hardly know," was the uninspiring response. Once more came a pause of considerable duration. Conversation between these two, neither usually gauche or dull-witted, seemed to consist of brief, somewhat inane remarks, interlarded with long periods of silence. But these protracted intervals were strangely devoid of any unpleasant feeling of restraint. Meeting Geoffrey's grey eyes fixed full upon her, Evarne instinctively smiled at him, slowly and serenely as was her wont. The young man rose from his chair with an abrupt start, and, crossing over to his easel, commenced to sort out brushes. "I, too, am going to paint from you, Miss Stornway," he explained with his back to her, "but my friend must arrange your pose. He has got an order for the picture. I can't think what is keeping him." Even as he spoke Jack swept in like a whirlwind, full of explanations. "Have you been here long, Miss Stornway? Well, never mind, only be as quick as you can in dressing, there's a good girl. I want you to wear this. Where on earth is it? Have you looked at the costume this morning, Geoff?" "Which costume?" "The one you helped me twist up yesterday, of course." From the recesses of the plaster-room Jack produced what was apparently a white rope, but as he proceeded to shake it out, it expanded into a loose sleeveless gown. It was made of almost transparent muslin, and had been damped, twisted round as tightly as possible while still wet, and thus left to dry. As a result it was now covered with innumerable little folds and creases, delightfully reminiscent of the draperies of antique statues.