The artist seized his opportunity. “They would remind you still more of our wood,” he said eagerly, “if you let me put you in as Ariadne! Do, Gladys,”--he had called her Gladys for some days--“you will make a simply adorable Ariadne. As she is now, she is wooden, grotesque, archaic--nothing but drapery and white ankles!” The girl had flushed with pleasure as soon as she caught the drift of his request. Now she glanced mischievously and mockingly at him. “_My_ ankles,” she murmured laughing, “are not so very, very beautiful!” “Please be serious, Gladys,” he said, “I am really quite in earnest. It will just make the difference between a masterpiece and a fiasco.” “You are very conceited,” she retorted teasingly, “but I suppose I oughtn’t to say that, ought I, as my precious ankles are to be a part of this masterpiece?” She ran in front of him down the drive, and, as if to give him an exhibition of her goddess-like agility, caught at an overhanging bough and swung herself backwards and forwards. “What fun!” she cried, as he approached. “Of course I’ll do it, Mr. Dangelis.” Then, with a sudden change of tone and a very malign expression, as she let the branch swing back and resumed her place at his side, “Mr. Clavering must see me posing for you. He must say whether he thinks I’m good enough for Ariadne.” The artist looked a shade disconcerted by this unexpected turn to the project, but he was too anxious to make sure of his model to raise any premature objections. “But you must please understand,” was all he said, “that I am very much in earnest about this picture. If anybody but myself _does_ see you, there must be no teasing and fooling.” “Oh, I long for him to see me!” cried the girl. “I can just imagine his face, I can just imagine it!” The artist frowned. “This is not a joke, Gladys. Mind you, if I do let Clavering into our secret, it’ll be only on condition that you promise not to flirt with him. I shall want you to stay very still,--just as I put you.” Dangelis had never indicated before quite so plainly his blunt and unvarnished view of her relations with her spiritual adviser, and he now looked rather nervously at her to see how she received this intimation. “I _love_ teasing Mr. Clavering!” she cried savagely, “I should like to tease him so much, that he never, never, would forget it!” This extreme expression of feeling was a surprise, and by no means a pleasant one, to Ralph Dangelis. “Why do you want so much to upset our friend?” he enquired. “I suppose,” she answered, still instinctively playing up to his idea of her naiveté and childishness, “it is because he thinks himself so good and so perfectly safe from falling in love with anyone--and that annoys me.” “Ha!” chuckled Dangelis, “so that’s it, is it?” and he paced in thoughtful silence by her side until they reached the house.