"I am convinced that it is all _blague_," she repeated, "—this threat of Noumea. Unless Jacques misbehaves very seriously in Biribi, nobody can send him to La Nouvelle. Besides, if his father chooses to oblige the Government, what does it matter about me? No; I have had enough of degradation. An hour on the river with you was enough to settle it."
"But what do you intend to do, Philippa?" he inquired.
She looked up at him with her winning smile:
"I came to ask _you_ that. Please tell me what I am to do."
"Of course. You are the first man who ever pleased me. You please me more and more. Why should I not come to you in my perplexity and say, ’What am I to do, my friend?’"
He reddened at that; found nothing to answer. The sudden and grotesque responsibility which this young girl was so lightly placing upon his shoulders might have amused if it had not disconcerted him. But it did not disconcert her.
"What am I to do, Mr. Warner?" she repeated with a smile of perfect confidence.
"Why, _I_ don’t know, Philippa. What _can_ you do down here at Saïs?"
"Tell _me_!" she insisted with undisturbed serenity.
"You couldn’t very well remain here. You will have to go back to Ausone and consider this matter more seriously——"
"I don’t know. I have my trunk in the punt——"
"Certainly, I brought my effects! I have some money—not very much. I shall go to the inn and remain there until you have decided what it is best for me to do."
The situation began to strike him as sufficiently ludicrous—the tragic mask is always on the verge of a grin—but he did not feel like smiling.
For a few minutes he occupied himself with collecting, strapping, and slinging his kit; and when he was ready to go, he looked down at the girl Philippa, where she was seated watching him out of her trustful grey eyes.
"I can employ you as a model," he said, "until Monsieur Wildresse sends for you. What do you think of the idea?"
[Illustration: "’I can employ you as a model,’ he said"]
"As a—a _model_, Monsieur?" she stammered.
"Yes. You could pose for me, if you like."
A delicate scarlet flush slowly mounted to her hair.
"Don’t you like the idea?" And suddenly he divined what was troubling her. "Not that sort of model," he said, amused. "You shall wear your clothes, Philippa."