“You have not got the——?”
And she significantly rubbed the forefinger of one hand in the palm of the other.
No!
There was a pause, and then she resumed:
“I want a picture!”
Eh?
“A picture, you know!”
And now she complacently stroked down her broad face, and exhibited a wide, vermillion chasm, with a formidable phalanx of ivories, by way of a suggestive smile.
No, I never paint portraits!