“You’ve got her very well.”

“Yes, pretty well.  It’s a bright little shallow face.”

“Go to the devil!” said Eugene, in strong indignation.

“I only said that to draw you.  There is something in the girl—­but not overmuch, you know.”

“There’s all I want.”

“Oh, I should think so!  Heard anything of Stafford?”

“No, except that he’s gone off somewhere alone again.  He wrote to Ayre; Ayre told me.  He and Ayre are very thick now.”

“A queer combination.”

“Yes.  I wonder what they’ll make of one another!”

Morewood was a good-natured man at bottom, and after a few minutes’ more talk he carried off Aunt Julia to look at his etchings.

“So I have run you down at last?” said Eugene to Claudia.

“I told you I didn’t want to see you.”

“I know.  But that was a month ago.”

“I was very much upset.”

“So was I, awfully!”

“Do you think it was my fault, Mr. Lane?”

“Not a bit.  So far as it was anybody’s fault, it was mine.”

“How yours?”

“Well, you see, he thought—­”

“Yes, I see.  You needn’t go on.  He thought you were out of the question, and therefore—­”

“Now, Lady Claudia, are you going to quarrel again?”

“No, I don’t think so.  Only you are so annoying.  Is he in great trouble?”

“He was.  I think he’s better now.  But it was a terrible blow to him, as it would be to any one.”

“To you?”

“It would be death!”

“Nonsense!” said Claudia.  “What is he going to do?”

“I don’t know.  I think he will go back to work.”

“I never intended any harm.”

“You never do.”

“You mean I do it?  Pray don’t try to be desperate and romantic, Mr. Lane.  It’s not in your line.”

“It’s curious I can never get credit for deep feeling.  I have spent a miserable month.”

“So have I.”

“Because I could not see the person I love best in the world.”

“Ah! that wasn’t my reason.”

“Claudia, you must give me an answer.”

Claudia rose, and joined her aunt and Morewood.  She gave Eugene no further opportunity for private conversation, and soon after the ladies took their leave.  As Eugene shook hands with Claudia, he said: 

“May I call to-morrow?”

“You are a little unkind; but you may.”  And she rapidly passed on to Morewood, and with much sparring made an appointment for her next sitting.

“Why does she fence so with me?” he asked the painter, as he took his hat.

“What’s the harm?  You know you enjoy it.”

“I don’t.”

But it is very possible he did.

The next day Eugene took advantage of Claudia’s permission.  He went to Grosvenor Square, and asked boldly for Lady Claudia.  He was shown into the drawing-room.  After a time Claudia came to him.