s is going to
take us to Lucerne in a week or two, you know, when the Long
Vacation begins. But I suppose we shall hardly get to Italy."

"Yes, that's Bordighera"--with a sigh--"my happy hunting-ground. And
the water is much bluer really--only don't tell Dick I said so. Yes,
you ought to go there. If you stayed late enough you would have me
dropping in on you one fine day, as soon as the fogs begin here.
Happy thought! Why shouldn't we all winter out there?"

"That would be nice," said Eve, rather doubtfully; "but, you know,
there's Charles--he would have to come back for the Law Courts in
the autumn, and he would be so lonely all by himself. And--and
there's my portrait. Mr. Lightmark wants to get that ready for next
year's Academy; and I can't sit to him very often, as it is, because
of _chaperons_, you know."

Meanwhile Lightmark was telling Mrs. Dollond, in a confidential
undertone, some story of a fair American sitter, who, on his
expressing himself dissatisfied with his efforts worthily to
transfer her complexion to canvas, had at once offered to send her
maid round to his studio with an assortment of her favourite _poudre
de rose_. Dollond listened with an amused smile to a recital of the
sculptor's impressions of the Salon, which he had taken on his way
from Rome. Copal was making desperate efforts to count his precious
teacups, a task which their scattered positions rendered
distressingly difficult. Charles Sylvester was somewhat listlessly
cross-examining a P.R.A. in embryo as to the exact meaning of
"breadth" in a painting; and Mr. Quain had been making his way as
unostentatiously as the creakiness of his boots would permit towards
the door. Eve had despatched one of "the boys" in search of a
portfolio to replace the one which she had exhausted, and another
had been entrusted with the safe bestowal of her empty teacup. The
new portfolio, when it arrived, proved to be filled, not as the
others, with landscapes and waterscapes, but with studies from
life--Capri fisher girls, groups of market people, Venetian boatmen,
and hasty sketches for portraits.

Eve paused rather longer than usual over one of these, the picture
of a pretty fair-haired girl, dressed as Pierrette, the general lack
of detail and absence of background only making the vigorously
outlined face more distinct.

"What a pretty girl, Philip!" said the young critic presently; "and
how curiously she's dressed! What is she intended to represent