‘I have plenty there in the studio to last me three months,’ said Bertie. ‘It will be no use attempting anything large in so limited a time; unless I do my own tombstone.’

Terms, however, were ultimately come to, somewhat more liberal than those proposed, and the doctor was induced to shake hands with his son, and bid him good–night. Dr Stanhope would not go up to tea, but had it brought to him in his study by his daughter.

But Bertie went up–stairs and spent a pleasant evening. He finished the Lookalofts, greatly to the delight of his sisters, though the manner of portraying their décollete dresses was not the most refined. Finding how matters were going, he by degrees allowed it to escape from him that he had not pressed his suit upon the widow in a very urgent way.

‘I suppose, in point of fact, you never proposed at all?’ said Charlotte.

‘Oh, she understood that she might have me if she wished,’ said he.

‘And she didn’t wish,’ said the signora.

‘You have thrown me over in the most shameful manner,’ said Charlotte. ‘I suppose you told her all about my little plan?’

‘Well, it came out somehow; at least the most of it.’

‘There’s an end of that alliance,’ said Charlotte; ‘but it doesn’t matter much. I suppose we shall all be back in Como soon.’

‘I am sure I hope so,’ said the signora; ‘I’m sick of the sight of black coats. If that Mr Slope comes here any more, he’ll be the death of me.’

‘You’ve been the ruin of him, I think,’ said Charlotte.

‘And as for a second black–coated lover of mine, I am going to make a present to him of another lady with most singular disinterestedness.’

The next day, true to his promise, Bertie packed up and went of by the 4.30 P.M. train, with £ 20 in his pocket, bound for the marble quarries of Carrara. And so he disappears from our scene.

At twelve o’clock on the day following that on which Bertie went, Mrs Bold, true also to her word, knocked at Dr Stanhope’s door with a timid hand and palpitating heart. She was at once shown up to the back drawing–room, the folding doors of which were closed, so that in visiting the signora, Eleanor was not necessarily thrown into any communication with those in the front room. As she went up the stairs, she none of the family, and was so far saved much of the annoyance which she had dreaded.

‘This is very kind of you, Mrs Bold; very kind, after what has happened,’ said the lady on the sofa with her sweetest smile.

‘You wrote in such a strain that I could not but come to you.’

‘I did, I did; I wanted to force you to see me.’

‘Well, signora; I am here.’

‘How cold you are to me. But I suppose I must put up with that. I know you think you have reason to be displeased with us all. Poor Bertie! if you knew all, you would not be angry with him.’