“Did you cook your breakfast over a fire on the hearth?” asked Elizabeth.
“No, I was too lazy to make it, so I used the oil stove. One can really toast quite well over it. I’ll be ready as soon as I put this cup away.” He went back into the pantry while Elizabeth busied herself in placing the daffodils in a ginger jar.
“Fine,” exclaimed Mr. Kemp when he came back. “It brings sunlight right into the room, doesn’t it?”
“I always think of daffys as cups of sunshine,” returned Elizabeth.
“I might have known you would; it sounds just like you,” responded the artist as he busied himself with setting his palette. “I think I must paint a picture of you and the daffys in a strong sunlight. It could be made something stunning.”
Elizabeth sighed. She really hoped that when this picture was done Mr. Kemp would think he had had enough of a little girl with Titian hair, but it was evident that he would keep on indefinitely and, like many another, he didn’t seem in the least to realize that it might be a hardship, so intent was he upon making the studies. Most of the girls, the older as well as the younger, thought it an immense compliment to be asked to sit to the painter, but Elizabeth had come to learn that it was not always so. Some combination of light and shade, some special effect, was what was considered, rather than a question of beauty. Why, had she not seen Mr. Kemp painting very ugly old women and uglier old men?
The morning passed slowly, although it must be said that Mr. Kemp was good company and did his best to entertain his little sitter. About eleven o’clock the threatening clouds dissolved into rain, which came down harder and harder.
“It’s coming down with a vengeance, isn’t it?” said Mr. Kemp, stepping back from his easel and looking at his work contemplatively. Then he put down his palette and went to the window to look out. “I say, Elfie,” he said, “let’s have dinner here. I’m not going to risk my sweet self out in this rain. I’ll build up a good fire and we will cook some potatoes in the ashes. Let me see what is in the larder. Come on.”
Elizabeth jumped down, only too glad of the diversion. “It is too early, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Oh dear, no, not to roast potatoes. It takes ages to cook them. I’ll make the fire first thing.” He was not long in finding dry shavings and wood and soon had a fire burning cheerily on the hearth. “Now come, let’s forage,” he said. “Eggs; we’ve plenty of those. I will make an omelette; I learned how to do that in Paris. Here is some chipped beef and a can of sardines. Which do you like best?”