"Yes," said Sir John, "... with pleasure." He moved back a step or two.

"Here are two sovereigns," he said. "Pray don't mind the change. The change doesn't matter, I a.s.sure you. Oh, any time, of course, as regards repayment. I am happy to oblige you." He dropped the sovereigns into Antonia's large palm and prepared to fly.

"You are happy to oblige me?" she said with a sort of gasp. "Oh, do stay just a single moment. You have made me very happy. Thirty-two shillings must go for a special purpose, but eight blessed shillings remain. Don't you really want the change? May I really borrow the change?"

"Most certainly. I am rather in a hurry."

"I'd kiss you, but you wouldn't like it," said Antonia. "These eight shillings mean--do you know what they mean?"

"If they make you happy, my dear young lady, that is enough for me."

"They do, they do! Cobalt ... Indian red ... rose madder ... burnt sienna ... canva.s.ses ... a new flat brush for the skies ... some drawing pins--Oh, he's gone! Dear old man. What an affliction I was to him; but how triumphant I feel!"

CHAPTER XXVII.

NELL IS IN TROUBLE.

All Antonia's plans were carried into effect. She paid Mrs. Martin thirty-two shillings and gave the old woman her address in town, begging of her to forward the ring there without an hour's delay. In due course it arrived, and Annie had it once more in her possession. Poor Annie turned pale when Antonia put the little box which contained it into her hand.

"I could cry as well as laugh," she said, looking at Antonia with tears springing to her eyes. "I have not behaved well about this ring, and I ought not to have it back like this. I ought to be properly punished. It does not seem fair that I should have the ring returned to me again in this easy manner."

"Undoubtedly you have been deceitful," replied Antonia, "and your conscience must feel ruffled. I can stand most things, but a ruffled conscience, I confess, is too much for me. I suppose you will soothe it in the only possible way?"

"What do you mean?" asked Annie.

"Confession is good for the soul," replied Antonia, in a sing-song voice. She went to the window as she spoke and looked out into the sunlit street.

The two girls were standing in the room which Antonia was pleased to call her studio. It was an attic at the top of the house, and had a dormer window with a north light. The dormer window had sides which were curtained with green. In Annie's opinion this room was simply hideous.

Huge canva.s.ses covered with great daubs of colour occupied the walls. A skeleton stood in one corner, and one or two draped figures were in others. Antonia had lured Annie up here for the purpose of taking her likeness in a white kerchief. Antonia was fired with an idea that Annie would look well as Marie Antoinette on her way to execution. She was not quite sure whether to make her Charlotte Corday or Marie Antoinette; but, on reflection, decided that the latter character would suit her best, as she did not think that Annie could ever get sufficient tragedy into her eyes for the former.

"I am going to paint myself some day for Charlotte," exclaimed Antonia.

"I'll study before the gla.s.s whenever I've an odd moment, and I believe I shall do the fixity of purpose stare after another week of hard practice. Now, do stand still Annie--the bother of the ring is at an end, so you can forget it. Just turn your head a little to the left, I want to get a peep at your ear--you have got a good ear, quite sh.e.l.l-like. Now, for mercy's sake look tragical! Think of the guillotine, and the crowd looking on, and La Belle France and the Tuileries, and the horrid feeling when your head is separated from your trunk. Now, then, realise it--get it into your eyes. Are you realising it?"

"Frankly, I'm not," replied Annie. "I can't sit for Marie Antoinette any longer to-day. I really can't, Antonia. This room is so stiflingly hot, and I want to go out. I want to get into one of the parks. Are there any near this?"

"Oh, yes! Hyde Park is quite close; but you'll find it as dry as chips.

Remember, it is September now. Hyde Park is not pretty in September."

"I wonder anyone can live in London," replied Annie.

"Do you? I don't. I hate this poky little house in the centre of detestable fashion; but if I could have an atelier, or a studio, I ought to say, in Gower Street, it would be nearly as good as Paris. Well, if you won't sit any longer, I suppose you won't. Now let us come downstairs."

The girls left the studio and entered the drawing-room. Here they found Mrs. Bernard Temple and Nora. Nora was lying on a sofa looking tired and pale, and Mrs. Bernard Temple was moving about the room in a bustling sort of fashion arranging flowers. The drawing-room was small and crowded with knick-knacks. Antonia seldom swept across this room without knocking a table over or flicking a paper on to the floor.

"Now, my dear, be careful!" exclaimed her parent. "That papier-mache table on which I have just arranged these lovely late roses, sent to me by dear Sir John, will not stand one of your lunges. I cannot imagine how you have got that peculiar walk, Antonia; its exactly as if you were on board ship."

Antonia lounged towards a chair, into which she flung herself.

"Dear me, it is hot!" she exclaimed, pushing back her thick black hair from her forehead. "Never mind about my walk, mother; let me hear the news. What did Sir Henry Fraser say of Nora?"

Mrs. Bernard Temple sank into another chair.

"The dear child!" she exclaimed. "She had a trying morning."

"Pray don't talk of it!" exclaimed Nora from her sofa. "It was too desperate."

"Why, did he hurt you?" exclaimed Antonia.

"Oh, no! he was kindness itself; but we had to wait so long before we saw him."

"Pooh!" answered Antonia. "Was that the dreadful part? Tell me what he said when you did see him? Are you likely soon to be quite well again?"

"With care," interrupted Mrs. Bernard Temple, "dear Nora will recover perfectly. Her back is still very weak, but there is no injury. She may walk a little daily, but must lie down a good deal."

"You're quite sure he wasn't anxious about you?" asked Antonia, fixing her eyes on Nora.

Nora started.

"No; what do you mean?" she said. "You quite startle me. Why should he be anxious?"

"Well, I almost wish he were. It would suit my purpose to have him anxious for a day or two. However, if he isn't, he isn't, and there's an end of it. Nora, don't you want to see your father very badly?"

"Oh, yes!" replied Nora. Her face grew pink and red. "Of course I'd like to see him, but I have not an idea where he is."

"He's in London, close to you, you goose."

"Antonia!" interrupted Mrs. Bernard Temple.

"Mother, she is a goose not to remember that Squire Lorrimer is in town.

You ought to write to him, Nora, and ask him to come to see you."

"If he's in London I don't know his address," answered Nora.

"You can write to his club--the Carlton. Here, I'll find you paper and pen, or, if you are too tired to write after the doctor's examination, you can dictate a letter to me. Here, what do you want to say? I'm not a good hand at letter-writing, but you must know the sort of thing. You had better ask him to dinner to-night; there's not an hour to be lost."

"You forget that we are going to the theatre to-night," said Mrs.

Bernard Temple.

"Oh, what does that matter. Nora can't go, with her weak back."

"Yes she can. I have taken a box, and she shall have my air-cushion to lean against."

"And I want to go to a theatre awfully," said Nora.

"Well, well, so much for filial affection. Ask him to come to lunch to-morrow. Write any way--show that you're a daughter, a loving daughter."