Everitt muttered something about not wanting that particular costume this week, and she went on to inquire in what character he was sitting for Mr Everitt, to which he had to reply that he did not know. She followed this up by asking a good many questions about himself, to which he responded in a deprecatory manner, though he was conscious of dangerously dropping the stupid vacancy behind which he had at first entrenched himself. Everitt, indeed, who had gone through a succession of London seasons without a heartache, had fallen a helpless victim in a few hours. There was an extraordinary fascination for him in this girl and her surroundings; he watched her furtively, called himself a fool for being there, and would not have been anywhere else for the world. Once she flung up the window and leaned out, resting on her finger-tips, to call to the children, who this time had Sandy with them in the garden. She was greeted by a shout. "Come out, Kitty! Leave that stupid old painting. It's lovely out-of-doors." She laughed and shook her head. "Kitty, I want something out of your garden." "What?" "That pink flower." "Oh, you robber! Well, you may have it, but move it _very_ carefully, and give it plenty of water. Where's mother?" "Gone to the infirmary to see old Dickson. Kitty!" in a pleading voice. "No; I can't spare any more. My poor garden will be bare." "Only a clump of forget-me-nots. Yours are such beauties!" She drew back laughing, and shut the window. For the first time Everitt regretted the absence of Miss Aitcheson. Had she been here Kitty, might have gone on talking, and he thought her voice the prettiest that he had ever heard; but, after all, though he was unconscious of it, it was her silent presence, and the opportunity for imagination which it afforded him, which momentarily strengthened the spell. As for not seeing her again, that idea had vanished for ever. See her he would, at whatever risk; and even the waiting a few days--to which prudence, driven from all her strongholds, fell back upon at the last--seemed a miserable concession, to which it was more than doubtful if he would yield. Why, in those few days some other man might come to the front! It will be seen that Everitt was very far gone indeed. He was trying to forget the stiffness of his arm, and he had quite succeeded in forgetting Miss Aitcheson when she came in. "Oh, Bell!" reproachfully from Kitty. "Yes, my dear, it's too tiresome! But father has taken this fancy for coming with me, and he has kept me waiting for ages. I made Hugh walk with me, after all, and it is too late for any painting, and I am _very_ much disappointed." "Yes," said Kitty regretfully, "it is too late. The time is up." To Everitt--"You can go now, and please tell Mr Everitt that I am sorry you cannot come again. Oh, and I will pay you."