the tiresome photographers; and fancy them, in the future! If mamma could only do that for me!" And she added, with the charming fellowship for which she was conspicuous on this occasion: "You know I don't think any one yet has been quite so much struck with me as you."
"Not even Peter Sherringham?" asked Nick, laughing and stepping back to judge of the effect of a line.
"Oh, Mr. Sherringham's different. You're an artist."
"For heaven's sake, don't say that!" cried Nick. "And as regards your art I thought Peter knew more than any one."
"Ah, you're severe," said Miriam.
"Severe?"
"Because that's what he thinks. But he does know a lot—he has been a providence to me."
"And why hasn't he come here to see you act?"
Miriam hesitated a moment. "How do you know he hasn't come?"
"Because I take for granted he would have called on me if he had."
"Does he like you very much?" asked Miriam.
"I don't know. I like him."
"He's a gentleman—pour cela," said Miriam.
"Oh, yes, for that!" Nick went on absently, sketching hard.
"But he's afraid of me—afraid to see me."
"Doesn't he think you're good enough?"
"On the contrary—he believes I shall carry him away and he's in a terror of my doing it."
"He ought to like that," said Nick.
