She rose at once.

Philip was a delightful artist, but the operations of dressing were not to be trifled with.

Her thanks, however, for "a lovely time!" and her pleading for a second show on the morrow, were so graceful, so sweet, that French, as he silently put the drawings back, felt his spirits drop to zero.

What could have so changed the thorny, insolent girl of six weeks before--but the one thing?
He stole a glance at Buntingford.

Surely he must realize what was happening--and his huge responsibility--he _must_.
Helena disappeared.