“I think so too, but—”
“Now, get out!” Breen commanded a third time. “You’ll be gossipping here forever.”
Nielsen took hold of the door knob, smiled in an aggravating manner, opened the door, bowed low and said in a droll tone: “Moral or unmoral, but—?”
Breen followed him, but Nielsen escaped, and the painter slammed the door. His mood changed instantly. He bustled around the studio, fixing this and rearranging that object and eventually looked about with satisfaction. He then approached a looking glass, readjusted his tie, smoothed his hair with his hand and otherwise subjected himself to a critical but self-satisfied examination, which, however, was cut short by a knock at the door. He hurried over to the door and opened it. “Come in!” he said cordially and stepped aside for Erna.
She was wearing her best clothes, which were very attractive on her. Unfortunately, the only red in the picture was a profusion of ribbons on her black hat and a neat tie—but fortunately, her red cheeks and lips were not missing. Altogether, Erna was a seductive apparition.
Certainly, this was Breen’s opinion too. “How charming you look, your Ladyship!” he exclaimed.
“Do I?” she retorted, smiling.
“Oh decidedly, decidedly,” and Breen bowed in anticipation of a pleasant afternoon. Bringing all of his courtesy to the surface, he helped Erna to remove her coat. She went over to the looking glass, laughed, cried: “You’ve got a glass too,” and took off her hat with careless ease.
“What do you mean?” demanded Breen, standing behind her and surveying her reflection with open admiration.
“Nothin’,” she returned rather impudently.