Maurice was looking into the fire.
"Poor little Paula," he said. "But you were his only wife."
"Yes," she said, "a law-given copyright."
"Paula," he said, "will you do something for me?"
"I wonder. There are surely no somethings where we are concerned."
"I want you to describe several dresses to me. Your own perfect divine dresses. I want them for my book."
"So I am to be made use of, am I?"
Her eyes were flashing.
He was not looking at her.
"Yes," he said, "I am going to steal some of your genius."