He opened his eyes. Fanny, her long cheeks flushed, her blue eyes shining, was gazing at him. There was a little bundle of paint-tubes on the bench before him. He turned pale.
“No, Fanny,” he said quickly.
“From us all,” she answered hastily.
“No, but——”
“Are they the right sort?” she asked, rocking herself with delight.
“Jove! they’re the best in the catalogue.”
“But they’re the right sorts?” she cried.
“They’re off the little list I’d made to get when my ship came in.” He bit his lip.
Fanny was overcome with emotion. She must turn the conversation.
“They was all on thorns to do it; they all paid their shares, all except the Queen of Sheba.”
The Queen of Sheba was Clara.
“And wouldn’t she join?” Paul asked.
“She didn’t get the chance; we never told her; we wasn’t going to have her bossing this show. We didn’t want her to join.”
Paul laughed at the woman. He was much moved. At last he must go. She was very close to him. Suddenly she flung her arms round his neck and kissed him vehemently.
“I can give you a kiss to-day,” she said apologetically. “You’ve looked so white, it’s made my heart ache.”
Paul kissed her, and left her. Her arms were so pitifully thin that his heart ached also.
That day he met Clara as he ran downstairs to wash his hands at dinner-time.
“You have stayed to dinner!” he exclaimed. It was unusual for her.
“Yes; and I seem to have dined on old surgical-appliance stock. I must go out now, or I shall feel stale india-rubber right through.”
She lingered. He instantly caught at her wish.
“You are going anywhere?” he asked.
They went together up to the Castle. Outdoors she dressed very plainly, down to ugliness; indoors she always looked nice. She walked with hesitating steps alongside Paul, bowing and turning away from him. Dowdy in dress, and drooping, she showed to great disadvantage. He could scarcely recognize her strong form, that seemed to slumber
