“Oh, not really?”
“Really. Why not?”
“They are such sneaking, cowardly creatures, always working by indirect, underhand means, and leaving their poor tools to bear the storms they themselves have excited.”
“But the poor tools are fit for nothing else. It is the daring, clever brain of the Jesuit that weaves the plot; it is on him that the chief responsibility lies; and that his part of the work has its dangers is proved by the persecutions and martyrdom that many of his order have suffered. You cannot conquer everything in this world by the fists alone; every clever man who has ever made his way—‘got on,’ as the phrase is—is a potential Jesuit.”
“Well, then, I like the poor fellows who don’t get on, and who have only their fists, better,” said I decisively.
Mr. Rayner looked at me with a half smile.
“Most women begin like that,” said he dryly.
Of course I felt rather indignant, as every girl does, at being classed with “most women;” so I said no more, but only pursed up my lips; and I saw in the white face of Mrs. Rayner, who had been listening intently to this dialogue, a faint look of amazement at my presumption.
After two hours’ work, Mr. Rayner called us to look at his sketch, which represented a very lovely girl with dark gray eyes a little larger than mine, a red-lipped mouth a little smaller, teeth a little whiter, and a complexion a little creamier in the white parts and a little rosier in the red; and the brown hair coiled on the top was just a little glossier and smoother than mine ever was. It was just a little like me all the same; and I was rather hurt when Mrs. Rayner summoned spirit enough to say that he had flattered me, although I knew it quite well. But Mr. Rayner said gravely that it was impossible for a portrait to flatter a handsome woman, and Mrs. Rayner raised her thin shoulders in a slight shrug and turned to leave the room. Haidee rose to follow her, but paused on the threshold to give a last fond gaze at the lion and to look round for me.
“You are an excellent model, you sit so still. It is a pleasure to paint you for that and—for other reasons,” said he slowly and deliberately, as, without looking up, he went on putting finishing touches to the head. “What shall I give you as a reward for remaining so long without blinking or yawning as all professional models do?”