There were no other guests that evening, which was the pleasantest Elizabeth had known since she came to Farley. Uncle William and Mr. Shaw between them made Wybrowe recount some of his African experiences. He was not a boastful man, perhaps hardly a fluent talker; but the very absence of art in his narratives rendered them more convincing. He described the dangers to which he had been exposed, and the narrow escape he had once had from a lion, with perfect simplicity. It was impossible to doubt that he had both nerve and courage. The deliberation of his utterance, which almost amounted to a drawl, seemed to Elizabeth to heighten the effect of what he said. It was odd it should do so; but, thinking over it afterwards, in the silence of her own room, she came to the conclusion that, in so big and brave a man, a soft voice and hesitating delivery were distinctly attractive. He might have been loud and self-asserting. Modesty was an unexpected grace in so godlike a looking creature.The fact is, Elizabeth had met but few highly bred men; and Rupert Wybrowe, whatever his defects, was outwardly a perfect gentleman.
The next morning she went, as usual, to her studio (a large north room had been given up to her by Mrs. Shaw for that purpose), and had been painting for some time, when she heard her aunt's voice, and, after a knock at the door, for form's sake, that lady entered, smiling, followed by Wybrowe. She began at once in her high-pitched voice—
"We have come to beard you in your den, Bessie. I have brought the colonel, who is awfully fond of pictures. I think it would be so nice if you'd paint his
