"I thought there was more of the gleam of the red in amber in the hair. This hair is a brown with a little red in it."
"I got it as nearly as I could," he felt it enough to say. "The shade and sheen and silkiness of hair are always difficult."
After more minutes of hushed gazing, Junia made a venture. She spoke in that insinuating, sympathetic tone which in moments of tensity a woman can sometimes take toward a man.
"You're in love with her—aren't you?"
He jerked his head in the direction of the nude woman.
"With her? That model? Why, no! What made you think so?"
Junia was disconcerted.
"Oh, only—only the hints that have seeped through when you didn't think you were giving anything away."
He said, with some firmness:
"I never meant to give that away—or to hint that it was—that it was love—a rouleuse of the studios, whom any fellow can pick up."