Cora kept silent. She was touching her canvas. Pauline waited. Suddenly she turned and regarded her companion.
"Well?" she said.
Cora flung aside her brush. The two women faced each other.
"I think you are cruel!" cried Cora. It was evident that she was nearly in straits for speech, and her very lovely blue eyes seemed to sparkle through unshed tears. "I—I told you that I did not wish to sell the picture," she hurried on. "I—I don't call it a picture at all, as I also told you. It—it is far from being worth the price that you have offered me. It ... it ... And," here Cora paused. Her last words had a choked sound.
Pauline was looking at her fixedly but quite courteously.
"It is Ralph Kindelon's portrait," she said.
Cora started. "Well! and if it is!" she exclaimed.
Instantly, after that, Pauline went over to her and took one of her hands.
"My dear Miss Dares," she said, with that singular sweetness which she could always throw into her voice, "I beg you to forgive me. If you really wish to retain that picture—and I see that you do—why, then I would not take it from you even as a voluntary gift. Let us speak no more on the subject."
Cora gave a pained, difficult smile, now. She looked full into Pauline's steady eyes for a brief space, and then withdrew her own.