Never since those first few minutes--given over to apparent tongue-tied embarrassment--had Geoffrey and Evarne been together without Jack making a third. While this was certainly in the ordinary course of events, it was also, in some degree, the outcome of deliberate design on Jack's part. That young man had the greatest fear of love. He viewed it with apprehension and misgiving, a disease, a madness, to be warded off and avoided desperately--at all events by an artist. He might not know very much about the matter, or the symptoms by which it made its terrible presence manifest, but very soon indeed he was assailed by an alarming suspicion that Geoff regarded Miss Stornway differently from other models, dangerously differently. Jack was uneasy. He felt a sort of responsibility for having introduced the young woman into the studio, much as he would have held himself guilty had he brought home fever from one of his searches for "La Belle Dame," and thus prostrated his friend upon a bed of sickness. He had a vague idea that his presence might somehow suffice to nip any growing feeling of affection in the bud. Thus he conscientiously hovered around. And Geoffrey--a prey to many conflicting emotions--raised no objection. There were reasons that made it very desirable that he should not grow to seriously care for this fascinating model. Not being of a nature that could treat emotional matters lightly, for some time his delight in Evarne's presence was largely diluted by an ardent wish that he had never seen her fair face. But this marvellous wisdom did not have things all its own way. The date was rapidly approaching when he had arranged to leave England. Geoff's two young travelling companions were continually dropping in, full of eager talk of the journey and the work that was going to be accomplished at Venice. Day by day his gradually growing dislike of this proposed absence from London increased. At length a mental crisis came. His many conflicting thoughts settled themselves into a resolution. "I say, Jack," he announced one evening, "you had better go to Venice with those boys. I have just made up my mind that I'm not going. You can be ready in three days, can't you?" Jack absolutely gasped. "Why not? Why are you not going?" "I prefer to stop in England. I--I--well, I suppose I may as well tell you. There's no reason for secrecy. I've seen the woman I want to marry." Jack tried to look mystified and at a loss, as if thereby he could ward off the evil hour. "Who is it?" he inquired. "Why, you blind old bat, who should it be but--Miss Stornway?" The blow had fallen. "Geoffrey Danvers!" and Jack's voice was full of horror. "You must not be so idiotic!" The young man laughed lightly as he answered-- "Object, argue and discuss as much as you like. I'll talk to you for hours about her. Why should I not marry that sweet girl? Tell me?" "Well, after all she's only a--only a----"