"I
always thought this dead-white rather cold."
"Dinah is to have her own choice," said Sir Eustace.
"I would like shell-pink," said Dinah, without looking up. "Don't you
think that would be nice with those pretty water-colour sketches?"
She spoke diffidently. No one had ever deferred to her taste before.
Sir Eustace laughed in his slightly supercilious way. "Do you know who is
responsible for those pretty sketches, my red, red rose?"
She glanced up nervously. "Not--not--are they yours, Scott?"
"They are," said Scott, with a smile.
She met his eyes for an instant, and was surprised by their gravity. "Oh,
I do like them," she said. "I wonder I didn't guess. They are so
beautifully finished, so--complete."
"I am glad you like them," said Scott. "I thought you might want to turn
them out as lumber."
"As if I should!" she said. "I love them--every one of them. I shall love
them better still now I know they are yours."
"Thank you," said Scott.
Eustace turned his attention to him. "No one ever paid you such a
compliment as that before, my good Stumpy," he observed. "If everyone saw
you in that light, you'd be a great artist by now."
"I wonder," said Scott.
Dinah sent him another swift glance. She seemed on the verge of speech,
but checked herself, and there fell a brief silence.
It was broken by the entrance of a servant. "If you please, Sir Eustace,
Mr.
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