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“Do it to please me, then,” she said impulsively.

He smiled into her eyes.

“Would it please you, Chirpy?”

Her eyes met his with absolute candour.

“Immensely,” she said. “Immensely! You know it would.”

He held out his hand for the sketch.

“All right, then. You shall be my inspiration.”

She laughed lightly.

“Till that nice little woman turns up.”

“Exactly,” said Rivington.

He continued to hold out his hand, but she withheld the sketch.

“I’m going to keep it, if you don’t mind.”

“What for?” he said.

“Because I like it. I want it. Why shouldn’t I?”

“I will do you something better worth having than that,” he said.

“Something I shouldn’t like half so well,” she returned. “No, I’m going to keep this, in memory of a perfect afternoon and some of the happiest days of my life.”

Rivington gave in, still smiling.

“I’m going back to town to-morrow,” he said.

“Oh, are you?” Actual dismay sounded in her voice. “Why?”

“I’m afraid I must,” he said. “I’m sorry. Shall you be lonely?”

“Oh, no,” she rejoined briskly. “Of course not. I wasn’t lonely before you came.” She added rather wistfully, “It was good of you to stay so long; I hope you haven’t been very bored?”

“Not a bit,” said Rivington. “I’ve only been afraid of boring you.”

She laughed a little. A certain constraint seemed to have fallen upon her.

“How horribly polite we are getting!” she said.

He laid his hand for an instant on her shoulder.

“I shall come again, Chirpy,” he said.

She nodded carelessly, not looking at him.

“Yes, mind you do. I dare say I shan’t be having any other visitors at present.”

But though her manner was perfectly friendly, Rivington was conscious of that unwonted constraint during the rest of his visit. He even fancied on the morrow that she bade him farewell with relief.

VIII

THE MEETING IN THE MARKET-PLACE

Two days later, Ernestine drove with the miller’s wife to market at Rington, five miles distant. She had never seen a country market, and her interest was keen. They started after an early breakfast on an exquisite summer morning. And Ernestine carried with her a letter which she had that day received from Rivington.

“Dear Chirpy,” it ran, “I hasten to write and tell you that now I am back in town again I am most hideously bored. I am, however, negotiating for a studio, which fact ought to earn for me your valued approval. If, for any reason, my presence should seem desirable to you, write or wire, and I shall come immediately.–Your devoted

“KNIGHT ERRANT.”

Ernestine squeezed this letter a good many times on the way to Rington. She had certainly been feeling somewhat forlorn since his departure. But, this fact notwithstanding, she had no intention of writing or wiring to him at present. Still, it was nice to know he would come.

They reached the old country town, and found it crammed with market folk. The whole place hummed with people. Ernestine’s first view of the market-place filled her with amazement. The lowing of cattle, the bleating of sheep, and the yelling of men combined to make such a confusion of sound that she felt bewildered, even awestruck.

Mrs. Perkiss went straight to the oldest inn in the place and put up the cart. She was there to buy, not to sell.

Ernestine kept with her for the first hour, then, growing weary of the hubbub, wandered away from the market to explore the old town. She sat for a while in the churchyard, and there, to enliven her solitude, re-read that letter of Rivington’s. Was he really taking up art again to please her? He had been very energetic. She wondered, smiling, how long his energy would last.

Thus engaged the time passed quickly, and she presently awoke from a deep reverie to find that the hour Mrs. Perkiss had appointed for lunch at the inn was approaching. She rose, and began to make her way thither.

The street was crowded, and her progress was slow. A motor was threading its way through the throng at a snail’s pace. The persistence of its horn attracted her attention. As it neared her she glanced at its occupant.