wanted, and then went rustling down to him. Phoebe snuggled a little
more comfortably on her chair with an unconscious movement of pleasure.

"He said downstairs he wanted to finish taking her picture to-day while
the light lasted," she said; then ran on: "Ishmael, I've been so
unhappy...."

"Have you, Phoebe? Why, what about?" Then, as he saw her flush and
bite her pouting lower lip, he added: "Not because of me? I say, how
jolly of you! But there wasn't any necessity--"

"How silly you are! As if one did things--worried and that sort of
thing--because it was necessary! It's because one can't help it."

"Then it was all the nicer of you. But I meant that really it wasn't
anything to worry about. I'm as right as rain, and it's given me a jolly
good excuse to go up to London and see the world."

Panic peeped in Phoebe's brown eyes, giving her a flashing look of
something woodland, despite her would-be smart attire. She dropped her
lids to hide it.

"London...." she murmured. Then, sitting upright, and staring at her
twisting fingers:

"Ishmael!..."

A pause which Ishmael broke by asking, "Well?"

"Nothing. Only--I was wondering. Whether you ... how you'd like London,