The latter regarded us superciliously, and Joanna catching his glance flushed to the wavy hair over her forehead. The ordinary greetings having been exchanged, she proudly and markedly drew Paragot ahead, leaving me to follow with Major Walters. As he made no remark of any kind during our little walk, I did not find him an exhilarating companion. CHAPTER XX I HAD worked till the last glimmer of daylight at the portrait, which was now approaching completion. "That's the end of it for to-day," said I, laying my palette and brushes aside, and regarding the picture. Joanna rose from her chair by the fire where she had been sewing for the last hour and stood by my side. The morning-room, which had a clear north-east light through the French window leading into the garden, had been assigned to me as a studio, and here, sometimes on a murky afternoon, Joanna, who preferred the bright, chintz-covered place to the gloomy drawing-room, honoured me with her company. Mrs. Rushworth was asleep upstairs, and Paragot had gone for a solitary walk. We were cosily alone. It pleased my lady to be flattering. "It is wonderful how a boy like you can do such work--for you _are_ a boy, Asticot," she said with one of her bright comrade-like smiles. "In a few years you will have the world at your feet imploring you to paint its portrait. You will fulfil the promise, won't you?" "What promise, Madame?" I asked. "The promise of your life now. It is not everyone who does. You won't allow outside things to send you away from it all." She had slung the stole which she was embroidering for the vicar across her shoulders, and holding the two ends looked at me wistfully. "I owe it to my master, Madame," said I, "to work with all my might." "If only he had had a master in the old days!" she sighed, "He would have been by now a famous man full of honours, with all the world can give in his possession." "Hasn't he the best the world can give now that he has found you again?" said I, somewhat shyly. Joanna gave a short laugh. "You talk sometimes like one's grandfather. I suppose that is because you became a student of philosophy at a tender age. Yes, your master has found me again; but after all, what is a woman? Just a speck of dust on top of the world." She half seated herself on my painting stool, her back to the picture. "Tell me, Asticot, is he at least happy?" "Can you doubt it, Madame?" I cried warmly. "I do so want him to be happy, Asticot. You see it was all through me that he gave up his career and took to the strange life he has been leading, and I feel doubly responsible for his future. Can you understand that?"