“Yes, if you really want me to. But I won’t be able—”
“That’s all right,” he interrupted. “Come anyhow! You’ll be immense just the same. You will create—”
“Pooh, pooh, and likewise tut, tut!” Nielsen broke in. “When are we to hear an end to this?”
“He’s jealous,” said Erna.
“Of course,” Nielsen admitted. “To the painter go all the spoils. No one ever poses for a writer. It wouldn’t be proper.”
“Why?” she challenged.
Nielsen got up in a hurry. “What?” he demanded in mock seriousness.
“Order, order!” she said roguishly and looked away.
“But—”
“Order, order!” Breen echoed. “The lady is right. We must have order. Besides, we haven’t ordered.”