"I—I only looked in to say that if you hadn't found a model for—for the picture you wanted to paint, I might—I might be able to pose."
Though she hadn't advanced and he hadn't moved, the extraordinary light in his eyes made her heart thump more wildly.
"You'd do it"—he held up the sketch—"dressed like that?"
She remembered his own phrase, "If I'm to be that kind of a model I must be that kind of a model—and do what's expected."
The process of starving out being so far successful, Wray felt it well to push it a little more. He rose with an air of distress.
"I wish you could have told me this last week, Jennie. As it is—"
"You've got some one else?"
"Not definitely. I've tried out three—two of them no good, though the third might—"
"Might do as well as me?"
"Perhaps better in some ways. I mean," he added hastily, as she seemed about to go, "that she's a real professional model, and for this kind of job, of course, a professional would be—let us say, more at her ease."