"Of course not; but you may be sure that your mother is very contented.
I have been in that little church. It is charming. She is just resting
there; she is probably tired. If you will kindly give me five minutes
more, she will come out to you."

"Five minutes?" the young girl asked.

"Five minutes will do. I shall be eternally grateful." Longueville was
amused at himself as he said this. He cared infinitely less for his
sketch than the words appeared to imply; but, somehow, he cared greatly
that this graceful stranger should do what he had proposed.

The graceful stranger dropped an eye on the sketch again.

"Is your picture so good as that?" she asked.

"I have a great deal of talent," he answered, laughing. "You shall see
for yourself, when it is finished."

She turned slowly toward the terrace again.

"You certainly have a great deal of talent, to induce me to do what you
ask." And she walked to where she had stood before. Longueville made a
movement to go with her, as if to show her the attitude he meant; but,
pointing with decision to his easel, she said--

"You have only five minutes." He immediately went back to his work, and
she made a vague attempt to take up her position. "You must tell me if
this will do," she added, in a moment.