Miss Anna looked curiously at her companion.  The schoolmistress was puzzled—­and provoked.

’Well!—­you don’t suppose that John’s going to desert you for thirty years!’ said the other, with an impatient laugh.  ’Don’t be absurd, Phoebe.’

Phoebe said nothing.  She heard a cry from the baby Carrie, and she hurried across the little garden to the house.  At the same moment there was a shout of greeting from below, and Fenwick came into sight on the steep pitch of lane that led from the high-road to the cottage.  Miss Anna strolled down to meet him.

In the eyes of his old friend, John Fenwick made a very handsome figure as he approached her, his painter’s wallet slung over his shoulder.  That something remarkable had happened to him she divined at once.  In moments of excitement a certain foreign look—­as some people thought, a gypsyish look—­was apt to show itself.  The roving eyes, the wild manner, the dancing step betrayed the in most man—­banishing altogether the furtive or jealous reserve of the North-Countryman, which were at other times equally to be noticed.  Miss Anna had often wondered how the same man could be so shy—­and so vain!

However, though elation of some sort was uppermost, he was not at first inclined to reveal himself.  He told Miss Anna as they walked up together that he had done with Miss Bella; that old Morrison praised the portrait, and the girl hated it; that she was a vulgar, conceited creature, and he was thankful to have finished.

’If I were to show it at Manchester next month, you’d see what the papers would say.  But I suppose Miss Bella would sooner die than let her father send it.  Silly goose!  Powdering every time—­and sucking her lips to make them red—­and twisting her neck about—­ugh!  I’ve no patience with women like that!  When I get on a bit, I’ll paint nobody I don’t want to paint.’

‘All right—­but get on first,’ said Miss Anna, patting him on the arm.  ‘What next, John—­what next?’

He hesitated.  His look grew for a moment veiled and furtive.  ’Oh, there’s plenty to do,’ he said, evasively.

They paused on the green ledges outside the cottage.

‘What—­portraits?’

He nodded uncertainly.

‘You’ll not grow fat on Great Langdale,’ said Miss Anna, waving an ironical hand towards the green desolation of the valley.

He looked at her, walked up and down a moment, then said with an outburst, though in a low tone, and with a look over his shoulder at the open window of the cottage, ’Morrison’s lent me a hundred pounds.  He advises me to go to London at once.’

Miss Anna raised her eyebrows.  ‘Oh—­oh!’ she said—­’that’s news!  What do you mean by “at once"?—­September?’

‘Next week—­I won’t lose a day.’

Miss Anna pondered.

‘Well, I dare say Phoebe can hurry up.’

‘Oh!  I can’t take Phoebe,’ he said, in a hasty, rather injured voice.