"None at all--I shall stay and live with you always; or else I shall be a nurse, like Aunt Gabrielle." "To nurse sick people and take care of the poor who are suffering?" "Yes," replied Eva, "and to wear a dress just like auntie's." "Oh, that is your reason, eh? a very good one!" Gabrielle looked her best perhaps in the nurse's costume which had so taken Eva's fancy. Of the purely English type, with rosy complexion, delicate features, sweet soft eyes and fair hair, and with that mixture of modesty and assurance in her bearing which is so characteristic of the best of her countrywomen, she lent a fresh charm to the always pleasing semi-nun-like attire worn by hospital nurses. Something of that joy of living, which angels seem to stamp upon the faces of women who devote themselves to the well-being and happiness of others and to the assuaging of pain and suffering, had fascinated her little niece. Eva felt the charm, without being able to analyse it. She knew that Aunt Gabrielle would look beautiful in any dress, but thought that she was lovely in her nurse's garb. The child had forgotten all her tears and went on with her prattle. It was nearly five o'clock when Philip came in, evidently in a poor humour, and muttering words that did not reach Dora's ear. "Eva," said he, "you must go and get dressed now, there's a good child; we are going to dine a little earlier to-night, so that you may sit up to dinner with us. You know, it is a holiday to-day; it is the anniversary of the day daddy and mama were married on--I'll warrant there will be a special pudding for the occasion." Eva ran off, singing in her delight, and went to find Hobbs. A moment later, her little silvery voice was heard at the top of the stairs, announcing to her nurse that she was to stay up to dinner with mama and daddy. Presently the sound of the delightful babble ceased with the closing of the nursery door. "You have scarcely had time to go down to the theatre," said Dora. "No," replied Philip. "Lorimer began upon his endless theories again--what a bore he is when he talks like that! I could not stand him to-day; and, besides, I thought I had better get back and go on with the portrait until dinner." He looked at the clock and took off his coat. "It is going to be done to-day, after all then, that wretched portrait," said Dora, laughing and laying a stress on the word "wretched." "Why do you say that?" "Because I see you are tired of it." "To tell you the truth, I am dying to get it done." He put on his velvet jacket, sat at the easel, took his palette and his brushes. "Now then, to work!" said he. "It is only five o'clock," said Dora; "you have a good deal of time yet before dinner." He mixed his colours and was soon apparently engrossed in the pansies. He worked three-quarters of an hour without stopping. Dora had taken a book, and sat reading a few paces from the easel.