“Oh—I didn’t mean to put you to the trouble of thinking—”
“By the bye, Miss Lauderdale,” interrupted Crowdie, “you’re all in black to-day, and on Wednesday you were in grey. It makes a good deal of difference, you know, if we are to go on. Which is to be in the picture? We must decide now, if you don’t mind.”
“What a fellow you are, Crowdie!” exclaimed Griggs.
“I’ll have it black, if it’s the same to you,” said Katharine, answering the painter’s question.
“What are you abusing me for, Griggs?” asked Crowdie, looking round his easel.
“For interrupting. You always do. Miss Lauderdale asked me a question, and you sprang at me like a fiery and untamed wild-cat because I didn’t answer it—and then you interrupt and begin to talk about dress.”
“I didn’t suppose you had finished thinking already,” answered Crowdie, calmly. “It generally takes you longer. All right. Go ahead. The curtain’s up! The anchor’s weighed—all sorts of things! I’m listening. Miss Lauderdale, if you could look at me for one moment—”
“There you go again!” exclaimed Griggs.
“Bless your old heart, man—I’m working, and you’re doing nothing. I have the right of way. Haven’t I, Miss Lauderdale?”
“Of course,” answered Katharine. “But I want to hear Mr. Griggs—”