"Odd," said Roger with a laugh. "But, I say, what do you think of my den? Isn't it rather snug?"

"I like one of the pictures," said Rosalind, pointing to a certain portrait on the mantelpiece.

"I'm awfully glad," said Roger. "Do you know who it is?"

"No."

"A brother of mine who died long before I was born."

Rosalind took the picture in her hands and carried it to the window.

The scrutiny lasted some minutes. Then she replaced it on the chimney- piece.

"Well," said Roger, "do you like him?"

"Yes, I do."

"Aren't you a little afraid of him, too?"

"Not a bit. He looks like a hero."

Roger sighed.

"I'm glad there's one in the family," said he.

"Why not two? I say, will your tutor mind your having painting-lessons of me?"

"Mind? Not he. I shouldn't be surprised if he wants to have some too."

Rosalind laughed.

"That would be too terrible," said she. "But I must go now. Will you lend me this picture for a little? I'd like to look at it again."

Roger laughed.

"Oh yes, if you'll promise not to fall in love with him for good."

When Roger presented himself at the appointed hour in his cousin's studio, he found that young lady very much in earnest and not at all disposed to regard her new functions as a jest. Roger, who had come expecting to be amused, found himself ignominiously set down at a table beside the amenable Tom (who had been coerced into joining the cla.s.s) and directed to copy a very elementary representation of a gable of a cottage which the instructress had set up on the easel. Six times was he compelled to tackle this simple object before his copy was p.r.o.nounced pa.s.sable; and until that Rosalind sternly discouraged all conversation or inattention.

"Really, Roger," said she, when at last he meekly submitted his final copy, "for a boy of your age you are an uncommonly rough hand. Tom is a much more promising pupil than you."

"I haven't promised you a bob an hour, though," rejoined that not-to-be- flattered genius, beginning to whistle.

"Silence, sir!" said Miss Rosalind, stamping her little foot with something like temper; "as long as you are in my cla.s.s you must do as I tell you."

Here Roger protested.

"You're rather strict," said he. "I don't mind working hard and attending to all you say, but I vote we enjoy ourselves too--all three of us."

"You mean," said Rosalind petulantly, "that you come here to play, while I try to work."

"No, I don't. I come to do both, and I want you to, as well."

"Very well then, I withdraw from my engagement," said the young lady, with an ominous flush; "we don't agree about art. Unless you can give yourself up to it while you are about it, it's not meant for you--and-- and I'm very sorry indeed I made such a stupid mistake as to think you meant what you said when you told me you wanted to learn."

And she took the copy down from the easel.

"Look here, Rosalind," said Roger, in unusual perturbation, "I'm so sorry. You're quite right. Of course one can't do two things at once.

I'll--"

"You're a dear boy, as I've said before," said Miss Oliphant, brightening up suddenly and accepting her victory serenely. "Now please both of you draw the picture again from memory as exactly as you can."

"What's the long and short of it all?" presently whispered Tom, who had been supremely indifferent to the argument. "Is it larks or no larks?"

"Shut up!--that's what it is," said Roger.

"All right; thanks," said Tom contentedly.

And for a quarter of an hour more the two worked steadily and silently, the only sound in the room being the scratching of their pencils and Rosalind's occasional terse criticisms over their shoulders.

This little incident opened Roger's eyes considerably. He was astonished at himself afterwards for taking his rebuff so meekly, and submitting to what, after all, was rather a preposterous regulation. He was aware that he would not have submitted to any one but Rosalind, or possibly Armstrong. Why he should do so to her he did not particularly know; unless it was because he felt it would be pleasanter on the whole to have her as a friend than as a foe.

When, three days later, Mr Armstrong neither appeared nor communicated with any member of the household, the uneasiness which his prolonged absence caused found expression in several different ways. Miss Jill cried in a corner; Miss Rosalind tossed her head and painted fiercely; Roger, already pulled down with a return of his cough, moped in his own room; while his mother, impressed by the growing indignation of her cousin, began to work herself into a mild state of wrath. Tom alone was serene.

"I expect he's having a jolly time with that French chap," he volunteered at the family dinner.

"With whom?" inquired his father p.r.i.c.king his ears.

"Oh, a chum of his; not half a bad sort of cove, only he dropped all his 'h's.' He turned up at Christy's, you know, but missed the best break- down, while he and Mr Armstrong were hob-n.o.bbing outside. I saw it, though. It was prime."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" demanded Captain Oliphant.

"I didn't know you'd care about it," said his son in mild surprise.

"You see, it was this way. The fellow had wooden shoes on, and when the music began slow he began a shuffle, and gradually put on the pace till you couldn't tell one foot from the other."

Here Miss Rosalind broke into a derisive laugh.

"Really, Tom," said she, "you are too clever. However did you guess that we were all dying to hear how a break-down is danced?"

"I didn't till father said so."

Here Roger and the two young ladies laughed again; whereat Tom, concluding he had said something good unawares, laughed too, and thought to himself how jolly it is to be clever and keep the table at a roar.

In private Captain Oliphant pursued the subject of Gustav and his relations (apart from their mutual connexion with the break-down) with the Maxfield tutor.

He received very little satisfaction from his inquiry. Tom was so full of his main topic that the other events of that memorable evening in town occupied but a secondary place in his memory.

He recollected Gustav as a good-natured foreigner whom Armstrong called by his Christian name, and who talked French in return. He could not remember where he lived, except that it was ten minutes' walk from Christy's Minstrels; nor had he the slightest idea what the two men talked about, except that Armstrong had promised to hold somebody's hand, and that Gustav had tried to kiss him by way of recompense.