Oh, it would be very
dear!" This she repeated, wondering what she could ask in her charitable
avarice. "It would be----" yes, she would venture it--"fifty shekels!"
"I am poor enough," replied Marcus quietly, "but I will give you two
hundred."
"Two hundred!" gasped Miriam. "It is absurd. I could never accept two
hundred shekels for a piece of stonework. Then indeed you might say that
you had fallen among thieves on the banks of Jordan. No. If my
uncles will permit it and there is time, I will do my poor best for
fifty--only, sir, I advise you against it, since to win that bad
likeness you must sit for many weary hours."
"So be it," said Marcus. "As soon as I get to any civilised place I will
send you enough commissions to make the beggars in these parts rich for
life, and at a very different figure. Let us begin at once."
"Sir, I have no leave."
"The matter," explained Ithiel, "must be laid before the Court of
Curators, which will decide upon it to-morrow. Meanwhile, as we are
talking here, I see no harm if my niece chooses to work a lump of clay,
which can be broken up later should the Court in its wisdom refuse your
request."
"I hope for its own sake that the Court in its wisdom will not be such
a fool," muttered Marcus to himself; adding aloud, "Lady, where shall I
place myself? You will find me the best of sitters.
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