ad begun to murmur some remedial proposition, when he was
interrupted by the voice of Miss Light calling across the room, "Mamma!"

"My own love?"

"This gentleman wishes to model my bust. Please speak to him."

The Cavaliere gave a little chuckle. "Already?" he cried.

Rowland looked round, equally surprised at the promptitude of the
proposal. Roderick stood planted before the young girl with his arms
folded, looking at her as he would have done at the Medicean Venus. He
never paid compliments, and Rowland, though he had not heard him speak,
could imagine the startling distinctness with which he made his request.

"He saw me a year ago," the young girl went on, "and he has been
thinking of me ever since." Her tone, in speaking, was peculiar; it had
a kind of studied inexpressiveness, which was yet not the vulgar device
of a drawl.

"I must make your daughter's bust--that 's all, madame!" cried Roderick,
with warmth.

"I had rather you made the poodle's," said the young girl. "Is it very
tiresome? I have spent half my life sitting for my photograph, in every
conceivable attitude and with every conceivable coiffure. I think I have
posed enough."

"My dear child," said Mrs. Light, "it may be one's duty to pose. But as
to my daughter's sitting to you, sir--to a young sculptor whom we don't
know--it is a matter that needs reflection. It is not a favor that 's to
be had for the mere asking."

"If I don't make her from life," said Roderick, with energy, "I will
make her from memory, and if the thing 's to be done, you had better
have it done as well as possible."

"Mamma hesitates," said Miss Light, "because she does n't know whether
you mean she shall pay you for the bust. I can assure you that she will
not pay you a sou."

"My darling, you forget yourself," said Mrs. Light, with an attempt at
majestic severity. "Of course," she added, in a moment, with a change of
note, "the bust would be my own property."

"Of course!" cried Roderick, impatiently.

"Dearest mother," interposed the young girl, "how can you carry a
marble bust about the world with you? Is it not enough to drag the poor
original?"

"My dear, you 're nonsensical!" cried Mrs. Light, almost angrily.

"You can always sell it," said the young girl, with the same artful
artlessness.

Mrs. Light turned to Rowland, who pitied her, flushed and irritated.
"She is very wicked to-day!"

The Cavaliere grinned in silence and walked away on tiptoe, wit