your mother's that you should marry—some person here? He gave her a chance to reply, but still she was silent, and he continued: 'Do you mind telling me this? Could it ever be an idea of your own?'
'Do you mean some Frenchman?'
Raymond smiled. 'Some protégé of Madame de Brives.'
Then the girl simply gave a slow, sad head-shake which struck him as the sweetest, proudest, most suggestive thing in the world. 'Well, well, that's all right,' he remarked, cheerfully, and looked again a while at the bust, which he thought extraordinarily clever. 'And haven't you been done by one of these great fellows?'
'Oh dear no; only mamma and Effie. But Tishy is going to be, in a month or two. The next time you come you must see her. She remembers you vividly.'
'And I remember her that last night, with her reticule. Is she always pretty?'
Dora hesitated a moment. 'She is a very sweet little creature, but she is not so pretty as Effie.'
'And have none of them wished to do you—none of the painters?'
'Oh, it's not a question of me. I only wish them to let me alone.'
'For me it would be a question of you, if you would sit for me. But I daresay your mother wouldn't allow that.'
'No, I think not,' said Dora, smiling.
She smiled, but her companion looked grave. However, not to pursue the subject, he asked, abruptly, 'Who is this Madame de Brives?'
