Elizabeth agreed with her aunt. The victim shrugged his broad shoulders; the armour was brought up. He tore off the reprobated collar and tie, and bared his powerful throat, which rose like a bronze column from the pieces of armour, which they adjusted with pack-thread around him. All this was effected with a running accompaniment of laughter from Mrs. Shaw. Elizabeth, happily, had a fresh canvas ready; she began at once her charcoal sketch, when she had decided at which angle the head looked best. Seen at three-quarters, the cast in the eye was hardly perceptible, and the long yellow moustache shaded the somewhat too prominent under lip. The contrast between the steel corselet and his fair hair and beard was certainly becoming; no painter had ever a finer model, Elizabeth thought.
After a time Mrs. Shaw departed, and left them alone. There was not much interchange of words. Wybrowe had not the infirmity of thinking it necessary to "make" conversation; Elizabeth was absorbed in her work. Her sitter was beginning to feel rather sleepy, when the gong for luncheon roused them both. She laid down her palette and brushes.
"How patient you have been, Colonel Wybrowe! I never had such a good sitter. I am so much obliged, for it must be an awful bore."
She came and helped to release him from the armour. Her hands rested on his strong shoulders as she untied the knots of string. He looked down smilingly upon her from his altitude of six feet two.
"It can never be a bore to come and sit with you. I am only sorry that I can stay here so short a time now—
