Wray tossed the sketch on the table.
"Then, Jennie, there's no use talking of it any more. You're not that kind of a model, and it's that kind of a model I'm looking for."
"I'm the kind of model you were looking for when you put that advertisement in the paper nearly a year ago. I answered it because you said a pretty girl, not a professional—"
"Yes; that was a year ago. That's what I wanted then. But now it's something else. It doesn't follow that because you're satisfied with an egg for breakfast, that an egg will be enough for every meal all the rest of your life."
She looked up reproachfully.
"Yes; all the rest of your life! That's the way you talk. Nothing will ever be enough for you all the rest of your life."
"No, Jennie; nothing—not as far as I see now."
"And yet you expect me to stake everything—"
"You must choose your words there, Jennie. I don't expect you to do anything. There may have been a time when I hoped—but that's all over. We won't talk of it. You've made up your mind; I must make up mine. There's nothing between us now but a question of business. I'm looking for a model who does this kind of thing, and it doesn't suit you to serve my turn. Well, that settles it, doesn't it? Our little account is paid up to date, and so—"
She stumbled to her feet. The only form her resentment took was a trembling of the lip and the streaming of more tears.