“If anybody has the right and the power to please himself, you have,” he said. “Miss Lauderdale, would you mind sitting down beside the picture for a moment? I want to have a good look at it once more—I should just like to see if I can find that resemblance to Hester.”
“Certainly.”
Katharine sat down, assuming easily enough the attitude she had been accustomed to during a number of sittings. Crowdie drew back and looked at her. Then he came to her again and put out his hand towards her hair, but instantly withdrew it.
“I remember,” he said, quickly, but in a low voice. “You don’t like me to touch it. Would you raise your hair a little—on the sides? You know how it was.”
She looked up into his face and saw the expression she detested—a sort of disagreeable smile on the heavy red lips. The feeling of repulsion was so strong that she almost shivered. Crowdie drew back and looked again.
“I can’t see it—for the life of me!” said Crowdie, with a little laugh. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Lauderdale, I’ll go and get the easel at once.”
“Yes—do!” said Katharine.
“Well—but—won’t you stay to luncheon, Mr. Crowdie?” asked the old man.
“Thanks—I should like to—but I’ve got a sitter coming. You’re very kind. I’ll bring the easel myself.”
“Thank you very much. See you by and by, then,” answered Mr. Lauderdale.