Miss Julie looked down at the little girl; she had pulled her dress round her shivering little body and was crouched against the wall, with eyes to break your heart, full of terror and anguish. Miss Julie was shocked.
“What’s the matter, pet?” she asked, gently. “Aren’t you well?”
The child couldn’t answer, only shook her head, while tears began to roll slowly down her cheeks. Miss Julie went down on her knees beside her, and tried to put an arm about her, but she cowered away.
“Tell me!” she entreated. “Why don’t you want to pose, my dear?”
With lips trembling so that she could scarcely speak, the child told her.
“I want ... to—get dressed.... I don’t ... want them to see me.”
“Hasn’t she posed before?” Miss Julie asked the mother.
“No, she has not. I’ve done the best I——”
“Do you mean to say you’re trying to force her—when she feels as she does—when she’s ashamed?”
The stout woman did not flinch at all before Miss Julie’s stern glance.