"You tell me to think of you, Geoff," she sat happily writing one evening. "I do, indeed I do, remember you as steadily as even you yourself could possibly desire. To say I think of you every hour is not enough--you are never out of my mind or my heart, night and day. I don't mean that I think actively and consciously of you _quite_ all the time, but the sense of your personality, the deep thought of you, is _incessantly_ with me. It has become a part of my mind, I fancy; for I think of you without realising it, simultaneously with thinking deliberately of other matters. "Have no fear. I love you--love you utterly! I never seem to get tired now, however long the day; for the hours fade into nothingness in dreams of you. You know how ready all we lazy models are to jump down from the throne directly 'time' is called? Now I often surprise people by not moving when the magic word is spoken. I have not heard it, for I have been--where?--out in Venice--or in Paradise--I know not; but wherever the place may be, I have been with you! How, then, can I be expected to hear, unless people shout to startle me back to earth? In the 'rests' I read as usual, or, to be exact, not as usual; for often on reaching the end of a page I become aware that I know nothing at all of what it is about--the thought of you, my dear tormentor, has come 'twixt me and the words, and for very shame's sake I have had to start again and try to banish you for just a few minutes." "Whatever you find to say to Mr. Danvers is more than I can make out," declared Philia, as Evarne, having completed writing her letter, proceeded to put its pages into order. "You scribbles sheets and sheets, and every day almost--why, you writes books, and 'e's as bad. If I was the postman I wouldn't 'ave it! Now, jist look at the size of that billy-do." The young woman made a little grimace. "It is rather long, isn't it? But the difficulty does not lie in finding what to say. It is in obliging one's self to stop." "Are you goin' to marry 'im, Evarne?" "I--I suppose that is an allowable question? I don't.... No! I believe--how can I tell? I never think of anything ahead." "Give me somethin' I can swoller better'n that. 'Ow startled you look. What's to prevent?" "Marrying! That's--oh, he will marry someone of his own rank." "Go on with yer. Ain't you a laidy--a perfect laidy, says I?" "I'm an artist's model. Nothing more nor less," was the somewhat haughtily spoken rejoinder. "Then I 'opes to goodness you'll be careful what yer writes. It's a jolly dangerous game, I tell yer, puttin' silly talk into writin' and then chuckin' it into the pillar-box. Lord only knows what may come to it before it's safely burned or tored up." Evarne smiled. "You unromantic old dear! What harm do you think can come of it?" "'E could spoil your chance, if 'e was so minded, with any other gentleman as might want to marry yer." "That doesn't frighten me. Is there nothing else?"