"Oh, you are too tiresome. I shall never get this finished," grumbled Mary, concentrating herself so vigorously on the drawing that she absent-mindedly erased the last vestiges of it. She took up her plumb-line and held it in front of her cast and became absorbed in contemplating it. "You haven't answered my question, Miss Friscoe," whispered Bertie pertinaciously. "What question?" "When are you going to lend me your face?" "Look, there's Mr. Biskett going home already!" "Hang Mr. Biskett! I say, Mary----" he began passionately. "How are you getting on, Mr. Smythe?" came the creaking voice of Potts, the drawing-master, behind him. "Pretty well, thank you; how's yourself?" mechanically replied Bertie, greatly flustered by his inopportune arrival. Potts stared and Mary burst into a ringing laugh. "Look at _my_ drawing, Mr. Potts," she said. "It _will_ come so funny." "Why, there's nothing there," said Potts. "Dear me, no more there is," said Mary. "I--I was entirely dissatisfied with it. You might just sketch it in for me." Potts was accustomed to doing the work of most of the lady students. They used to let him do a little bit on each of his rounds till the thing was completed. He set to work on Mary's drawing, leaving her to finish being proposed to. "And you really love me?" Mary was saying, while Potts was sketching the second plum. "Can you doubt it?" Bertie whispered tremulously. "Yes, I do doubt it. You have loved so many girls, you know. Oh, I have heard all about your conquests." She thought it was best to take the bull by the horns, and her breath came thick and fast as she waited for the reply that would make or mar her life. Bertie's face lit up with pleasure. "Oh, but----" he began. "Ah, yes, I know," she interrupted triumphantly. "What about that actress you are painting now?" "Oh, well," said Bertie. "If you say 'yes,' I promise never to speak to her again." "And you will give up your bad habits?" she continued joyfully. "Every one. Even my cigarettes, if you say the word. My whole life shall be devoted to making you happy. You shall never hear a cross word from my lips." Mary's face fell, her lip twitched. What was the use of marrying a milksop like that? Where would be the fun of a union without mutual recriminations and sweet reconciliations? She even began to doubt whether he was wicked after all. "Did you ever really love that actress?" she whispered anxiously. "No, of course I didn't," said Bertie soothingly. "To tell the truth, I have never spoken to her in my life. I bought her photo in the Burlington arcade and I only talk with the fellows about ballet girls in order, not to be behind the times. I never knew what love was till I met you. You are the only----" Crash! bang! went his three-legged easel, upset by Mary's irrepressible movement of pique. The eyes of the class were on them in a moment, but only Mary knew that in that crash her last hope of happiness had fallen, too.