“Not a bit difficult.” Cynthia’s eyes were dancing. “I’ve been working,” she said demurely.
“What, not already? Well, you are a wonder! Oh, you’ve got something there? Come into the office, will you? This is just a borrowed place and I hate it. Drat these French chairs. I like a good old swivel chair I can lean back in. Shall be glad to get back to the States myself. Now let’s see. ...”
He had chatted incessantly as he led the way into a room resembling more a window display of a decorator’s shop than an office. Cynthia perched on the corner of the elaborate inlaid desk and slipped the wrapper off her drawing, the one Nono, over her second breakfast, had finished posing for, just a half hour ago.
“Here you are.” She knew it was good. Would he think so too? Gosh, he liked it! She could tell by his face.
“Sa ... ay, that’s fine. My dear child, you have certainly surpassed anything you have done yet.” He set it on the floor, propped against the wall and leaned back to squint at it.
It was nice to be praised and Cynthia felt herself getting warm and pink cheeked. Yes, she knew Nono had been her best effort ... to date. “There’ll be better ones, though,” she told the little editor. “I’m going to Brittany next week to join the Brewsters, and to paint. I’ll do you a Breton child for the issue after this one.”
Mr. Culbert got up and took her arm. “Now we’ll go and get a check made out for this. I know you can always use money in Paris. And then how about a celebration dinner tonight, some place where they have marvelous French cooking?”
Cynthia laughed. “I can do better than that, I’ve got an invitation for you, instead. We’re both invited to a really American meal. Please, do you like corned beef hash?”