Before to-day had Evarne worn just such a robe, and knowing that nothing was better calculated to emphasise her commanding beauty than was this graceful simplicity, it was with considerable satisfaction that she took it from Jack's hand and retired to the model's room. A white ribbon was provided to confine the falling folds beneath her breast; the only touch of colour was the rich blue of the cornflowers and golden yellow of ripe wheat-ears that composed a wreath for her head. She did not hurry in the least over her toilette, but took as much time as ever she required in arranging her hair graciously beneath the light garland, and in carefully coaxing and smoothing into artistic folds the masses of snowy drapery, and moulding it to her form. She felt strangely, unreasonably excited--peculiarly anxious to look her very best for Mr. Hardy's benefit. She gazed at her reflection critically ere leaving her retreat, and having an artist's eye, her lips inevitably curved into a soft smile of satisfaction. "Well, you do look ripping!" exclaimed Jack impulsively, as she appeared and stood motionless for a moment to be surveyed. Geoff was silent, but Evarne's glance had somehow wandered towards him, and his eyes had spoken. Half-unconsciously she gave a tiny happy laugh, as, scorning the step, she sprang lightly upon the throne. Never had a day sped with such magical rapidity. For the first time in her whole experience as an artist's model she was genuinely sorry when twilight fell and work had to be abandoned. Strangely, strangely attractive was the mental atmosphere of this studio, wherein luxury and ambition blossomed side by side. She had received in her life not a few personal lessons concerning the uncertainty of Fate and mutability of Fortune, while from Philia's teachings she had learned it all over again second-hand. As the old woman put it-- "Yer goes out innercent and unsuspectin' for a quiet walk, and perhaps you're brought 'ome on a shutter dead as a doornail, from a chimney-pot 'avin fallen and cracked yer skull; or you've been squashed by a motor; or shot by a lunatic; or bit by a mad dog. All them things 'appens to some folks. Maybe your turn next, maybe mine. Or, more ordinary like, a bit o' grit blows into yer eye all in the twinklin' of a second--no warnin' at all--and yer goes gropin' 'arf-blind for the rest of the day."