"Oh, dear! I meant to," said Rose, "but it isn't MUCH open. If I go back, and pull it real hard to make it latch it'll make a noise, and Mr. Kirtland won't like it. We won't stay out long, so it doesn't matter."
"When we DO go back, let's sit on that little sofa in the corner. That's a cosy place."
"All right," agreed Rose, and together they walked up and down the little path that led from the tiny, side door to the street.
"The studio is grand, and the people he's painted look as if they could speak, if they chose," said Polly, "but somehow it made me feel queer to see them all looking at me."
"And once I peeped over my shoulder and that man in the hunting costume had his eyes right on me," said Rose, "and I turned my head away. When I turned again, he looked as if he'd speak, and if he DID, I just know he'd say: 'I'm still looking at you, Rose Atherton; you can't dodge ME!'"
"I do truly love the pictures," Polly said, "but I never saw so many all at once, and I didn't feel queer about them, until we'd been with them quite a while. I guess we'd feel different if somebody had been talking. It was still and cool in there, and did you notice? The corners in the little room were shady and almost dark."
"He doesn't speak, after he really begins to paint," said Rose. "He says: 'Turn a bit this way Miss Lois. No, not quite so much, that's it. Now hold that pose, please,' and then he doesn't speak again until he stops painting.
"At first he said Aunt Lois could rest often, but she doesn't care to. She says it's easy to sit in the big carved chair. I'd be wild to sit still so long!"
"Hello!" a merry voice shouted, and they turned toward the street.
It was Lester Jenks. He was beckoning to them, and they ran out to the sidewalk.