Lord Findon looked at the artist--half angry, half amused.

'You don't buy her gloves, sir--I do.' Eugenie's eyes meanwhile had begun to sparkle, as she stood in her sable cap and cloak, waiting for her companions.

Fenwick approached her.
'Will you sit to-morrow ?' 'I think not--I have some engagements.' 'Next day ?' 'I will let you know.' Fenwick's colour rose.
'There is a good deal to do still--and I must work at my other picture.' 'Yes, I know.

I will write.' And with a little dry nod of farewell she slipped her hand into her father's arm and led him away.

Welby also saluted pleasantly, and followed the others.
* * * * * Fenwick was left to pace his room in a tempest, denouncing himself as a 'damned fool,' bent on destroying all his own chances in life.