He laughed again softly, and kissed her lips. "I will make a rough sketch in the morning and show it you. It won't be a study—only an idea. You are going to pose for the study."
"I?" she said, half-startled.
"You—yes, you!" His eyes looked deeply into hers. "Haven't you realised yet that you are my inspiration?" he said. "It is going to be the picture of my life—'Aphrodite the Beautiful!'"
She quivered afresh at his words. "Am I really—so beautiful?" she faltered. "Would you think so if—if you didn't love me?"
"Would I have loved you if you weren't?" laughed Knight. "My darling, you are exquisite as a passion-flower grown in Paradise. To worship you is as natural to me as breathing. You are heaven on earth to me."
"You love me—because of that?"
"I love you," he answered, "soul and body, because you are you. There is no other reason, heart of my heart. When my picture of pictures is painted, then—perhaps—you will see yourself as I see you—and understand."
She uttered a quick sigh, clinging to him with a hold that was almost convulsive. "Ah, yes! To see myself with your eyes! I want that. I shall know then—how much you love me."
"Will you? But will you?" he said, softly derisive. "You will have to show me yourself and your love—all there is of it—before you can do that."
She lifted her head from his shoulder. The fire that he had kindled in her soul was burning in her eyes. "I am all yours—all yours," she told him passionately. "All that I have to offer is your own."