“We mustn’t judge Palamon by our own standards,” smiled Hilda, “though highly civilized dogs like him don’t show many social instincts towards their own kind. He did miss Arcite though, at first, I am sure; but he certainly is not lonely. I bring him here with me, and when I am at home he is always in my room. I think all the walking he gets is good for him. You see in what good condition he is.”
Palamon still showing signs of restlessness over the yawn, Odd put him down. He was evidently on cordial terms with the model, for he trotted affably toward her, standing with a lazy, smiling wave of the tail before her, while she addressed him with discreetly low-toned, whispering warmth as “Mon chou! Mon bijou! Mon petit lapin à la sauce blanche!”
“Don’t you get very tired working here all day?” Odd asked.
“Sometimes. But anything worth doing makes one tired, doesn’t it?”
“You take your art very seriously, Hilda?”
“Sometimes—yes—I take it seriously.” Hilda smiled her slight, reserved smile.
“Well, I can’t blame you; you really have something to say.”
“Hilda, I am afraid we are becoming de trop. I must carry you off, Mr. Odd. Hilda’s moments are golden.”
“That is a sisterly exaggeration,” said Hilda. Had all her personality gone into her pictures? was she a self-centred little egotist? Odd wondered, as he and Katherine walked away together. Katherine’s warmly human qualities seemed particularly consoling after the chill of the abstract one felt in Hilda’s studio.