"It will do beautifully," Longueville answered, in a happy tone, looking
at her and plying his brush. "It is immensely good of you to take so
much trouble."

For a moment she made no rejoinder, but presently she said--

"Of course if I pose at all I wish to pose well."

"You pose admirably," said Longueville.

After this she said nothing, and for several minutes he painted rapidly
and in silence. He felt a certain excitement, and the movement of his
thoughts kept pace with that of his brush. It was very true that she
posed admirably; she was a fine creature to paint. Her prettiness
inspired him, and also her audacity, as he was content to regard it
for the moment. He wondered about her--who she was, and what she
was--perceiving that the so-called audacity was not vulgar boldness,
but the play of an original and probably interesting character. It was
obvious that she was a perfect lady, but it was equally obvious that
she was irregularly clever. Longueville's little figure was a success--a
charming success, he thought, as he put on the last touches. While he
was doing this, his model's companion came into view. She came out of
the church, pausing a moment as she looked from her daughter to the
young man in the corner of the terrace; then she walked straight over
to the young girl. She was a delicate little gentlewoman, with a light,
quick step.

Longueville's five minutes were up; so, leaving his place, he approached
the two ladies, sketch in hand. The elder one, who had passed her hand