"Proudy! Well, maybe he'll buy all your pictures. You couldn't refuse, not to one of the family, who isn't a—jar-fly."
Kenneth laughed a little. It was so delightful to respond to her gay spirits, to be able to feel in sympathy with her sly allusions. They were back again on the old footing. He laughed again. "No, he isn't that, but I don't believe he will want to buy my pictures, in spite of there not being the same reason for refusing to sell as when you—"
"When I acted like a cold-blooded jellyfish." She blushed when she remembered the exact cause of that refusal to sell, but she was happy, absurdly so. The blood was coursing wildly through her veins. She had triumphed and not only did she glory in her victory, but she felt that the vanquished hugged his chains. "That fatal picture," she sighed. "Did you paint another like it?"
"Not exactly, though much the same."
"And have you sold it?"
"No."
"Any others?"
"Two or three small ones."
"What are you going to do with that one?" she asked with sudden audacity.
"Which one?"