I thought MY
turn had come at last."
Reginald met this in sullen silence. Then Phoebe was sorry she had said
it; for, after all, it wasn't the man's fault if an old sweetheart had
run into the room, and given him a start. So she made him some fresh
tea, and pressed him kindly to try her home-made bread and butter.
My lord relaxed his frown and consented, and of course they talked
diamond.
He told her, loftily, he must take a studio, and his sitters must come
to him, and must no longer expect to be immortalized for one pound. It
must be two pounds for a bust, and three pounds for a kitcat.
"Nay, but, my dear," said Phoebe, "they will pay no more because you
have a diamond."
"Then they will have to go unpainted," said Mr. Falcon.
This was intended for a threat. Phoebe instinctively felt that it might
not be so received; she counselled moderation. "It is a great thing to
have earned a diamond," said she: "but 'tis only once in a life. Now,
be ruled by me: go on just as you are. Sell the diamond, and give me the
money to keep for you. Why, you might add a little to it, and so would
I, till we made it up two hundred pounds. And if you could only show two
hundred pounds you had made and laid by, father would let us marry,
and I might keep this shop--it pays well, I can tell you--and keep my
gentleman in a sly corner; you need never be seen in it.
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