“You must come and see me some afternoon,” she said to him. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. "How go you like your quarters, sauce-box?" asked Sharples, in a jeering tone. "You're inquisitive, young gentleman," replied Jackson, coldly. ‘Or flew in by balloon, perhaps. He haunted a state between hectic dreaming and mild delirium, and she found herself talking aloud to him. 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. "Your uncle, Sir Rowland?" "It is no idle boasting," replied the other. She stood, as it were, directed doorward, with her eyes watching every movement, listening to him, repelled by him and yet dimly understanding.
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