Herr Paul looked at him dubiously--ever since the previous day he had
been thinking: 'Queer bird, that painter--thinks himself the devil of
a swell! Looks a determined fellow too!' Now--staring in the painter's
face--it seemed to him, on the whole, best if some one else refused this
permission.

"With all the pleasure, my dear sir," he said. "Come, let us ask these
two young ladies!" and putting down his hose, he led the way towards the
arbour, thinking: 'You'll be disappointed, my young conqueror, or I'm
mistaken.'

Miss Naylor and the girls were sitting in the shade, reading La
Fontaine's fables. Greta, with one eye on her governess, was stealthily
cutting a pig out of orange peel.

"Ah! my dear dears!" began Herr Paul, who in the presence of Miss
Naylor always paraded his English. "Here is our friend, who has a very
flattering request to make; he would paint you, yes--both together,
alfresco, in the air, in the sunshine, with the birds, the little
birds!"

Greta, gazing at Harz, gushed deep pink, and furtively showed him her
pig.

Christian said: "Paint us? Oh no!"

She saw Harz looking at her, and added, slowly: "If you really wish it,
I suppose we could!" then dropped her eyes.