There fell a sudden silence. Ernestine was studying his sketch with her
head on one side. At length, "You will never marry," she said, in a tone
of conviction.
"Probably not," agreed Rivington.
He lay still for a few seconds, then sat up slowly and removed his pipe
to peer over her shoulder.
"It isn't bad," he said critically.
She flashed him a sudden smile.
"Do take it up again!" she pleaded. "It's really wicked of you to go and
bury a talent like that."
He shook his head.
"I can't sketch just to please myself. It isn't in me."
"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.
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