have to study. Then when her practice was over, she would indulgently sit with her head in profile against a dark background, and Georgie would suck one end of his brush and bite the other, and wonder whether he would ever produce anything which he could dare to offer her. By daily poring on her face, he grew not to admire only but to adore its youth and beauty, by daily contact with her he began to see how fresh and how lovely was the mind that illuminated it.
“Georgie, I’m going to scold you,” she said one day, as she took up her place against the black panel. “You’re a selfish little brute. You think of nothing but your own amusement. Did that ever strike you?”
Georgie gasped with surprise. Here was he spending the whole of every morning trying to do something which would be a worthy Christmas present for her (to say nothing of the hours he had spent with his mouth open in front of his glass, and the cost of the beautiful frame which he had ordered) and yet he was supposed to be only thinking about himself. Of course Olga did not know that the picture was to be hers....
“How tarsome you are!” he said. “You’re always finding fault with me. Explain.”
“Well, you’re neglecting your old friends for your new one,” she said. “My dear, you should never drop an old friend. For instance, when did you last play duets with Mrs Lucas?”
“Oh, not so very long ago,” said Georgie.
“Quite long enough, I am sure. But I don’t actually mean sitting down and thumping the piano with her. When did you last think about
