"Then, just because he is disagreeable to me, I am to consent!" cried the girl impatiently. Mrs Marchmont rapidly shifted her ground. "You can't deny," she asserted, "that he behaved with the utmost delicacy in refusing to come here to-day." "I don't know what I should have thought of him or of you, if he _had_ been here," replied Kitty. She carried things, indeed, with so high a hand, that Mrs Marchmont was quite disconcerted. Her attempt had failed at least as completely as Jack's, and she began to experience a sensation of defeat to which she was altogether unaccustomed. It seemed really probable that these two provoking young persons, in whom, in spite of vexation, she daily took a deeper interest, would so obstinately persist in nullifying her good offices as entirely to prevent her from achieving their happiness. Nothing, it must be owned, could be more tiresome than such conduct. And yet she could not feel as angry with them as they deserved. She was even conscious of a little compunction as she noticed the graver lines on Kitty's sweet face. And Kitty herself? She had answered Mrs Marchmont with a becoming spirit, and so far she looked back upon their talk with satisfaction. But, to tell the truth, she could not quite forgive herself for thinking so much about the matter as she had to acknowledge she was thinking, and though she had professed a lofty indifference to Everitt's conduct, her mind dwelt upon it with a good deal of approval. Perhaps, in spite of her words, she was beginning to think less of that unfortunate business with the model, and to remember Everitt's face in the chapel on Sunday, and the manner in which he had refused to avail himself of his cousin's proposal, jack's story made a kindly background for his hero. After all, and notwithstanding Mrs Marchmont's despair, it is possible that her arrangement had not been so complete a failure as it appeared to herself. CHAPTER SEVEN. FLIGHT. With regard to Everitt and Jack Hibbert, a change had taken place which could not but be considered remarkable. Everitt, who had hitherto been noted for the energy and industry of his work, now was frequently absent from his studio, and when there painted in a half-hearted fashion, which was not likely to do him much good. He was conscious of it, annoyed, and was always expecting a return of his old enthusiasm; as it did not arrive, he became depressed, and told Jack that he believed he had lost the trick of it. The change in Jack himself fortunately lay in quite another direction; Everitt could not tell what had come over the lad, who was early and late in his studio, and worked with a purpose and intensity which he had never known before. Me used at intervals to rush into Everitt's studio to ask his advice and assistance. Smitten with compunction one morning when the artist had spent a good deal of time over a question of colour, he expressed himself to that effect.