"She's success, this wonderful Voisin, she's triumph, she's full accomplishment: the hard, brilliant realisation of what I want to avert for you." Miriam looked at him in silence, the cold light still in her face, and he repeated: "Give it up--give it up." Her eyes softened after a little; she smiled and then said: "Yes, you're better than poor Dashwood." "Give it up and we'll live for ourselves, in ourselves, in something that can have a sanctity." "All the same you do hate us," the girl went on. "I don't want to be conceited, but I mean that I'm sufficiently fine and complicated to tempt you. I'm an expensive modern watch with a wonderful escapement--therefore you'll smash me if you can." "Never--never!" she said as she got up. "You tell me the hour too well." She quitted her companion and stood looking at Gerome's fine portrait of the pale Rachel invested with the antique attributes of tragedy. The rise of the curtain had drawn away most of the company. Peter, from his bench, watched his friend a little, turning his eyes from her to the vivid image of the dead actress and thinking how little she suffered by the juxtaposition. Presently he came over and joined her again and she resumed: "I wonder if that's what your cousin had in his mind." "My cousin----?" "What was his name? Mr. Dormer; that first day at Madame Carre's. He offered to paint my portrait." "I remember. I put him up to it." "Was he thinking of this?" "I doubt if he has ever seen it. I daresay I was." "Well, when we go to London he must do it," said Miriam. "Oh there's no hurry," Peter was moved to reply. "Don't you want my picture?" asked the girl with one of her successful touches. "I'm not sure I want it from _him_. I don't know quite what he'd make of you." "He looked so clever--I liked him. I saw him again at your party." "He's a jolly good fellow; but what's one to say," Peter put to her, "of a painter who goes for his inspiration to the House of Commons?" "To the House of Commons?" she echoed. "He has lately got himself elected." "Dear me, what a pity! I wanted to sit for him. But perhaps he won't have me--as I'm not a member of Parliament." "It's my sister, rather, who has got him in." "Your sister who was at your house that day? What has she to do with it?" Miriam asked. "Why she's his cousin just as I am. And in addition," Sherringham went on, "she's to be married to him." "Married--really?" She had a pause, but she continued. "So he paints _her_, I suppose?" "Not much, probably. His talent in that line isn't what she esteems in him most." "It isn't great, then?" "I haven't the least idea." "And in the political line?" the girl persisted. "I scarcely can tell. He's very clever." "He does paint decently, then?" "I daresay." Miriam looked once more at Gerome's picture. "Fancy his going into the House of Commons! And your sister put him there?" "She worked, she canvassed."