“Is it?” asked Crowdie. “I’ll open something. But if you’ve had enough of it for the first day, I can leave it as it is till the next sitting. Can you come to-morrow?”
“Yes. That is—no—I may have an engagement.” She laughed nervously as she thought of it.
“The afternoon will do quite as well, if you prefer it. Any time before three o’clock. The light is bad after that.”
“I think the day after to-morrow would be better, if you don’t mind. At the same hour, if you like.”
“By all means. And thank you, for sitting so patiently. It’s not every one who does. I suppose I mustn’t offer to help you with your hat.”
“Thanks, I can easily manage it,” answered Katharine, careful, however, to speak in her ordinary tone of voice. “If you had a looking-glass anywhere—” She looked about for one.
“There’s one in my paint room, if you don’t mind.”
He led the way to the curtain behind which he had disappeared in search of his colours, and held it up. There was an open door into the little room—which was larger than Katharine had expected—and a dressing-table and mirror stood in the large bow-window that was built out over the yard. Crowdie stood holding the curtain back while she tied her veil and ran the long pin through her hat. It did not take more than a minute, and she passed out again.
“That’s a beautiful arrangement,” she said. “A looking-glass would spoil the studio.”
“Yes,” he answered, as he walked towards the door by her side. “You see there isn’t an object but stuffs and cushions in the place, and a chair for you—and my easels—all colour. I want nothing that has shape except what is human, and I like that as perfect as possible.”