‘Even if he could do that, I am sure he would not,’ said Miss Van Siever.

‘To prove to you that I can, I think I need only show you the sketch,’ said Dalrymple, taking the drawing out of his pocket.  ’As regards the face, I know it so well by heart already, that I feel certain I could produce a likeness without even a sitting.  What do you think of it, Mrs Broughton?’

‘It is clever,’ said she, looking at it with all the enthusiasm which women are able to throw into their eyes on such occasions; ’very clever.  The subject would just suit her.  I have never doubted that.’

‘Eames says that it is confused,’ said the artist.

‘I don’t see that at all,’ said Mrs Broughton.

’Of course a sketch must be rough.  This one has been rubbed about and altered—­but I think there is something in it.’

‘An immense deal,’ said Mrs Broughton.  ‘Don’t you think so, Clara?’

‘I am not a judge.’

’But you can see the woman’s fixed purpose; and her stealthiness as well;—­and the man sleeps like a log.  What is that dim outline?’

‘Nothing in particular,’ said Dalrymple.  But the dim outline was intended to represent Mrs Van Siever.

‘It is very good—­unquestionably good,’ said Mrs Dobbs Broughton.  ’I do not for a moment doubt that you will make a great picture of it.  It is just the subject for you, Conway; so much imagination, and yet such a scope for portraiture.  It would be full of action, and yet such perfect repose.  And the lights and shadows would be exactly in your line.  I can see at a glance how you would manage the light in the tent, and bring it down just on the nail.  And then the pose of the woman would be so good, so much strength, and yet such grace!  You should have the bowl he drank the milk out of, so as to tell the whole story.  No painter living tells a story so well as you do, Conway.’  Conway Dalrymple knew that the woman was talking nonsense to him, and yet he liked it, and liked her for talking it.

‘But Mr Dalrymple can paint his Sisera without making me Jael,’ said Miss Van Siever.

‘Of course he can,’ said Mrs Broughton.

‘But I never will,’ said the artist.  ’I conceived the subject as connected with you, and I will never disjoin the two ideas.’

‘I think it no compliment, I can assure you,’ said Miss Van Siever.

’And none was intended.  But you may observe that artists in all ages have sought for higher types of models in painting women who have been violent or criminal, than have sufficed for them in their portraitures of gentleness and virtue.  Look at all the Judiths and the Lucretias, and the Charlotte Cordays; how much finer the women are than the Madonnas and the Saint Cecilias.’

‘After that, Clara, you need not scruple to be a Jael,’ said Mrs Broughton.

’But I do scruple—­very much; so strongly that I know I never shall do it.  In the first place I don’t know why Mr Dalrymple wants it.’