"Doesn't it sound absurd, for all the good it does me, or I do _in_ it? Of course one can produce nothing but rubbish on such terms--without continuity or persistence, with just a few days here and there. I ought to be ashamed of myself, no doubt; but even my rubbish interests me. '_Guenille si l'on veut, ma guenille m'est chere_.' But I'll go down to Harsh with you in a moment, Julia," Nick pursued: "that would do as well if we could be quiet there, without people, without a creature; and I should really be perfectly content. You'd beautifully sit for me; it would be the occasion we've so often wanted and never found." She shook her head slowly and with a smile that had a meaning for him. "Thank you, my dear; nothing would induce me to go to Harsh with you." He looked at her hard. "What's the matter whenever it's a question of anything of that sort? Are you afraid of me?" She pulled her hand from him quickly, turning away; but he went on: "Stay with me here then, when everything's so right for it. We shall do beautifully--have the whole place, have the whole day, to ourselves. Hang your engagements! Telegraph you won't come. We'll live at the studio--you'll sit to me every day. Now or never's our chance--when shall we have so good a one? Think how charming it will be! I'll make you wish awfully that I may do something." "I can't get out of Griffin--it's impossible," Julia said, moving further away and with her back presented to him. "Then you _are_ afraid of me--simply!" She turned straight round, very pale. "Of course I am. You're welcome to know it." He went toward her, and for a moment she seemed to make another slight movement of retreat. This, however, was scarcely perceptible, and there was nothing to alarm in the tone of reasonable entreaty in which he spoke as he stood there. "Put an end, Julia, to our absurd situation--it really can't go on. You've no right to expect a man to be happy or comfortable in so false a position. We're spoken of odiously--of that we may be sure; and yet what good have we of it?" "Spoken of? Do I care for that?" "Do you mean you're indifferent because there are no grounds? That's just why I hate it." "I don't know what you're talking about!" she returned with sharp disdain. "Be my wife to-morrow--be my wife next week. Let us have done with this fantastic probation and be happy." "Leave me now--come back to-morrow. I'll write to you." She had the air of pleading with him at present, pleading as he pleaded. "You can't resign yourself to the idea of one's looking 'out of it'!" Nick laughed. "Come to-morrow, before lunch," she went on. "To be told I must wait six months more and then be sent about my business? Ah, Julia, Julia!" the young man groaned. Something in this simple lament--it sounded natural and perfectly unstudied--seemed straightway to make a great impression on her. "You shall wait no longer," she said after a short silence. "What do you mean by no longer?"