'I'm afraid in that case it wouldn't look like me,' said the Colonel, laughing.
'Oh, of course it couldn't compare—it wouldn't be so 'andsome! But I do hate them portraits!' Miss Geraldine declared. 'It's so much bread out of our mouths.'
'Well, there are many who can't paint them,' Lyon suggested, comfortingly.
'Oh, I've sat to the very first—and only to the first! There's many that couldn't do anything without me.'
'I'm glad you're in such demand.' Lyon was beginning to be bored and he added that he wouldn't detain her—he would send for her in case of need.
'Very well; remember it's the Mews—more's the pity! You don't sit so well as us!' Miss Geraldine pursued, looking at the Colonel. 'If you should require me, sir———'
'You put him out; you embarrass him,' said Lyon.
'Embarrass him, oh gracious!' the visitor cried, with a laugh which diffused a fragrance. 'Perhaps you send postcards, eh?' she went on to the Colonel; and then she retreated with a wavering step. She passed out into the garden as she had come.
'How very dreadful—she's drunk!' said Lyon. He was painting hard, but he looked up, checking himself: Miss Geraldine, in the open doorway, had thrust back her head.
'Yes, I do hate it—that sort of thing!' she cried with an explosion of mirth which confirmed Lyon's declaration. And then she disappeared.
