the look on her face when she
said:

"You're not to go!" Odd, indeed, if she had not some devil in her, with
that parentage!

V

Next day they had summoned him from the studio to see a peculiar
phenomenon--Johnny Dromore, very well groomed, talking to Sylvia with
unnatural suavity, and carefully masking the goggle in his eyes! Mrs.
Lennan ride? Ah! Too busy, of course. Helped Mark with his--er--No!
Really! Read a lot, no doubt? Never had any time for readin'
himself--awful bore not having time to read! And Sylvia listening and
smiling, very still and soft.

What had Dromore come for? To spy out the land, discover why Lennan and
his wife thought nothing of the word 'outside'--whether, in fact,
their household was respectable.... A man must always look twice at
'what-d'you-call-ems,' even if they have shared his room at school!...
To his credit, of course, to be so careful of his daughter, at the
expense of time owed to the creation of the perfect racehorse! On the
whole he seemed to be coming to the conclusion that they might be useful
to Nell in the uncomfortable time at hand when she would have to go
about; seemed even to be falling under the spell of Sylvia's transparent
goodness--abandoning his habitual vigilance against being scored off in
life's perpetual bet; parting with his armour of chaff. Almost a relief,
indeed, once out of Sylvia's presence, to see that familiar, unholy
curiosity creeping back into his eyes, as though they were hoping
against parental hope to find something--er--amusing somewhere about
that mysterious Mecca of good times--a 'what-d'you-call-it's' studio.
Delicious to watch the conflict between relief and disappointment. Alas!
no model--not even a statue without clothes; nothing but portrait heads,
casts of animals, and such-like sobrieties--absolutely nothing that
could bring a blush to the cheek of the young person, or a glow to the
eyes of a Johnny Dromore.

With what curious silence he walked round and round the group of
sheep-dogs, inquiring into them with that long crinkled nose of his!
With what curious suddenness, he said: "Damned good! You wouldn't do me
one of Nell on horseback?" With what dubious watchfulness he listened to
the answer:

"I might, perhaps, do a statuette of her; if I did, you should have a
cast."

Did he think that in some way he was being outmanoeuvered? For he
remained some seconds in a sort of trance before muttering, as though
clinching a bet: