ant, then escorted Betty straight upstairs to a big, bare room on
the third floor, which she described as her "lair."

"No one ever sits here but myself, and I can make as much mess as I
like. It's lovely!" she explained, and forthwith turned on the electric
light, and poked up the fire, for the atmosphere was distinctly chilly.
It was certainly not a tidy apartment, no one could have said that for
it, but it was extremely interesting from a girl's point of view. The
wood-carving bench occupied the place of honour before the window; but
there were evidences that the owner possessed more hobbies than one, for
a piece of copper was in process of being beaten into a pattern of
pomegranates and leaves, a work-table was littered with odds and ends,
and on an old black tray was a weird medallion portrait of a gentleman,
manufactured out of plasticine, a lump of which lay by its side.

Young Mrs Vanburgh held out the tray towards Betty with a dramatic
gesture.

"That's my husband! Let me introduce you--Mr Gervase Vanburgh--Miss
Trevor! Would you believe, to look at him there, that he is quite the
handsomest man you ever beheld?"

Betty looked at the grey profile, and sniggered helplessly.

"I'm afraid I never should!"

"No, it's horrid! I'm just beginning modelling, and it's not a success.
I suppose it's because I can't draw well enough. What _is wrong_, do
you think?"

"Everything!" Betty felt inclined to say, but politely compromised by
pointing out the most flagrant offences.

"The ear is on a level with the mouth. The eye is perched upon a mound,
instead of being in a hollow; he has no nostril, and oh! Water on the
brain! He must have, with all that bump in front!"

"Goodness! What a critic! You might be one of my very own sisters!"
cried Mrs Vanburgh, laughing. She looked at the profile
scrutinisingly. "There's one comfort--it can soon be altered. There!
I'll take a bit off his head. It's the neatest shape in the world
really. I don't think I am born to be a sculptor. For one thing, I
should never have the patience to clean my nails. This plasticine gets
into all the nooks and crannies, and simply _won't_ come out!"

Betty had no sympathy to spare for nails. She was too much occupied in
considering another problem. Mrs Vanburgh looked almost as young as
herself, and was far more spontaneous and lively in manner; it seemed
impossible to imagine her the mistress of this stately house, and the