“But they belong to me,” Breen defended himself. “Color is my line. Red is my color too.”
“These grasping conceited painters!” Nielsen grumbled.
“No,” Erna interceded. “If he likes red, he likes red.”
“’A second Daniel’,” quoted Breen. “I thank thee, gracious Lady. Thou and I are of one mind and desire. By the way, Erna! Did you ever wear all red?”
“No—oh, yes, two or three years ago.”
“You did? Have you still got the dress?”
“Oh, I’ve outgrown it. I’m—I’m stouter now,” and she expanded her chest and laughed again.
“But you must find it,” he continued with growing interest. “You could easily alter it to fit, couldn’t you? I want you to pose for me. You know you’ve promised me several times. Wouldn’t you like to? All in red: red ribbon, red waist, and skirt and even red slippers, but best of all, red cheeks and red lips!”
Erna’s pleasure-loving scent was aroused.
“Will you, Erna?”