He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention. “Miss Ellicot!” Brendon echoed. “I think as I feel in a good humour it must be the latter. ’ ‘Oh, have you?’ grunted Gerald, surprising in himself a surge of some odd emotion at these words. You mustn’t go clawing after a man that doesn’t belong to you—that isn’t even interested in you. “It makes me feel,” he said, “that nothing is impossible—to have you here beside me.
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