She coloured, but a warm happy look came into her eyes as she gazed back at me.

“So I did really satisfy you?  I realised your expectations?” she murmured.  I lifted one of her hands to my lips and kissed it.

“Satisfied is not the word,” I returned, looking up into the dark blue eyes above me with my own burning with admiration.  “I was entranced.  May I shew it to you?”

“Yes, I should like to see it,” she answered.

I rose and brought over to her the picture and set it so that we both could see it together.  She gazed at it some time in silence.

“Do you like it?” I asked suddenly with keen anxiety.

“You have idealised me, Trevor!”

“It is impossible to idealise what is in itself divine,” I replied quietly.  She looked at me, her face full Of colour but her eyes alight and smiling.

“I am so glad, so happy that you are pleased.  You have drawn it magnificently.  What life you put into your things—­they live and breathe.”

She turned and looked at my clock.

“I must go now, I have been here ages.”  She began to put on her hat and cloak.  When I had fastened the latter round her throat, I took both her hands in mine.

“May I expect you to-morrow?”

“To-morrow?  Let me see.  Well, I was going to the Carrington’s to lunch.  I promised to go, so I must; but I need not stay long.  I can leave at three and be here at half past; only that will be too late in any case on account of the light, won’t it?”

“Not if it is a bright day.”

“You see, I need not accept any more invitations.  I shan’t, if I am coming here, but I have one or two old engagements I must keep.”

I dropped her hands and turned away.

“But I can’t let you give up your amusements, your time for me in this way!” I said.

Viola laughed.

“It’s not much to give up—­a few luncheons and teas!  As long as I have time for my music I will give you all the rest.”

She stood drawing on her gloves, facing the fire; her large soft, fearless eyes met mine across the red light.

I stepped forwards towards her impulsively.

“What can I say?  How can I thank you or express a hundredth part of my gratitude?”

Viola shook her head with her softest smile and a warm caressing light in her eyes.

“You look at it quite wrongly,” she said lightly.  “My reward is great enough, surely!  You are giving me immortality.”

Then she went out, and I was alone.

* * * * *

For a fortnight I was happy.  Viola came regularly every day to the studio, and the picture grew rapidly, I was absorbed in it, lived for it, and had that strange peace and glowing content that Art bestows, and which like that other peace “passeth all understanding.”