“You’ve got such a pretty ear!” she remarked presently, as she touched its outermost rim with a hair line, cocking her head to one side, the while, in a very 88 professional manner; “Did you ever notice what a pretty ear you have?”
“Better be careful how you talk about it,” Eleanor laughed, “for fear it should begin to burn!”
The artist looked in some trepidation at the feature in question, but its soft hue did not deepen. She took the precaution, however, to change the subject; to one which she often chose, indeed, for the sake of the animation it brought into the pretty face of her model. Eleanor’s “repose” sometimes bothered her.
“What shall you do the first day in Paris?” Madge asked.
“I shall write to you.”
“Good gracious! You won’t write to me before you have seen the Louvre!”
“I shall write to you the very first minute. And then I shall write again that same evening, and tell you whether there really is a Louvre! If there shouldn’t be one, you know, I shouldn’t feel so like a pig in being there without you!”
“You needn’t feel like a pig, as far as that goes,” said Madge. “I couldn’t 89 have gone to Paris if I had won the prize.”
“Why not?”
“Well, I had it out with Father this morning. He says it’s not a mere matter of money; that if he and Mother thought well of my going, they could manage it.”