"In your case, it doesn't have to be discussed. I shouldn't know you, anyhow. We're like creatures in different—what do they call it?—not spheres—elements, isn't it?—We're like creatures in different elements—a bird and a fish—that don't get a point of contact."
"You mayn't see the points of contact—"
"And if I don't see them they're not there." She turned toward Wray, who was coming back in their direction, addressing him in the idiom she heard among young native-born Americans, and which accorded best with her position in the studio. "Oh, Mr. Wray, could you let me off posing any more to-day? This friend guy of yours has got me all on springs."
"Clear out, friend guy. Can't you see you're in the way?"
She continued to take the tone she was trying to make second nature, since it was not first.
"That's something he wouldn't notice if a car was running over him. But please let me go. There's a quarter of an hour left on to-day, but I'll make it up some other time."
She moved down the studio with as much seeming unconcern as if she didn't know that two pairs of eyes were following her. Picking her way between old English chairs with canvases stacked against their legs, past dusty brocade hangings, and beneath an occasional plaster cast lifted on a pedestal, she went out at the model's exit without a glance behind her.
Bob spoke only when she had disappeared.
"Listen, Hubert. I'm going to marry that girl."
Wray stepped back to the front of the easel, flicking in a touch or two on the rough sketch of the Greek girl kneeling before Aphrodite.