“What on earth is the matter now?” Godfrey asked, stretching himself out in an easy chair as he spoke. “I know the poise of that head is not quite what it might be, but haven’t I promised you that I’ll alter it to-morrow? Teresina is the very best model in the world, and as patient as she’s beautiful.” “That’s exactly what I am complaining of,” Victor answered, quietly. “If she were not, I should not bother my head about her. I feel, in a measure, responsible, don’t you see? If it hadn’t been for me, she would not be here.” The happiness vanished from Godfrey’s face as a breath first blurs and then leaves the surface of a razor. “I am afraid I don’t quite grasp the situation,” he said. “You surely don’t suppose that I am falling in love with Teresina--with my model?” “I am quite aware that you’re not,” the other answered. “There is my trouble. If you _were_ in love with her, there might be some hope for her. But as it is there is none.” Henderson stared at him in complete surprise. “Have you gone mad?” he asked. “No one was ever saner,” Fensden replied. “Look here, Godfrey, can’t you see the position for yourself? Here is this beautiful Italian girl, whom you engaged through my agency. You take her from beggary, and put her in a position of comparative luxury. She has sat to you day after day, smiled at your compliments, and--well, to put it bluntly, has had every opportunity and encouragement given her to fall head over ears in love with you. Is it quite fair, do you think, to let it go on?” Godfrey was completely taken aback. “Great Scott! You don’t mean to say you think I’m such a beast as to encourage her?” he cried. “You know as well as I do that I have behaved toward her only as I have done to all the other models before her. Surely you would wish me to be civil to the girl, and try to make her work as pleasant as possible for her? If you think I’ve been a blackguard, say so outright!” “My dear Godfrey, nothing could be further from my thoughts,” answered Fensden in his usual quiet voice, that one of his friends once compared to the purring of a cat. “I should be a poor friend, however, if I were to allow you to go on as you are going without an expostulation. Can not you look at it in the same light as I do? Are you so blind that you can not see that this girl is falling every day more deeply in love with you? The love-light gleams in her eyes whenever she looks at you; she sees an implied caress even in the gentle pats you give her drapery, when you arrange it on the stage there; a tender solicitude for her welfare when you tell her to hurry home before it rains. What is the end of it all to be? I suppose you do not intend making her your wife?” “My wife?” said Godfrey, blankly, as if the idea were too preposterous to have ever occurred to him. “Surely you must be jesting to talk like this?”