Baffin tried to resume work on the picture; but Prudence's gifts of anecdote were as yet unexhausted, and she found it necessary to tell what Mr. Wilberforce Baker had said to Mr. Jerningham Jukes, and what Mr. J. J. had said to Mr. W. B., and what she had said to both of them, and what her mother had suffered under chloroform. And she giggled, and she wriggled, and she apologised, and she wept, and she wriggled and she giggled again. And Comrade of Brush No. 1 observed to Comrade of Brush No. 2 that this sort of thing would not be good enough at any price. Comrade No. 2 sniffed assentingly. "And what the blazes," he inquired, "does she want to wear that beastly flannel for?"
"Ah!" grunted No. 1. "I say, Baffin, why does she wear red flannel? Makes chaps sick."
Baffin referred the matter to headquarters. "What do you dress yourself up like a sore throat for, Prudence?" he inquired. "Why do you wear red flannel?"
Prudence's eyes were wide with amazement. "Ow, Mr. Baffin," she tittered, "yew are a funny men! ... I got pretty things at 'owm. But what's the good o' wearin' 'em out in the studios?"
"You are lacking, my dear girl, in the quality of perception." Baffin uttered these words with an oracular air.
The Comrades made their adieux. "Not if she paid me to paint her," whispered No. 1, with a jerk of the head towards Prudence. "But, Lord, what a profile! A tricky man could work wonders with that head."
"Pity she spoils herself," added Comrade No. 2. And they departed.
"Hear what those gentlemen said?" demanded Baffin, as the door closed.... "You are too talkative, and you giggle too much, and you wriggle too much. And you should leave off red flannel, and make yourself nice. You could make a lot of money if you took care of yourself. Think of the nice things you could give your mother then!"
"My mother's got a abscess," moaned Prudence, "an' I believe she'll die, an' then I'll starve, 'cause I'm a good-for-nothin' gel, an' I wown't sit still, an'—an' me figure's too flat. But I'm learnin' to croshy, an' I will be better. Shall I come termorrer, Mr. Baffin?"
"Come on Friday," answered Baffin. "And," he added, "come in a nice, unwrigglesome frame of mind. You shall have cream and tea and muffins if you are a good girl."