"Do you think it quite fair to Olga—" he began.
She leaned back in her chair and smiled at him mischievously.
"Oh, Olga is quite capable of taking care of herself. It isn't Olga
I'm thinking about at all. It's you, my poor friend. Did you know
that Olga has the reputation of being quite the most dangerous woman in
Europe?"
"All women are dangerous. Fortunately I'm not the kind of man such women find interesting."
"I'm not sure that I know just what kind of a man you are, Mr. Markham. In your studio I inclined to the opinion that you had most of the characteristics of an amiable gorilla; on Thimble Island you seemed like Diogenes—without the tub; to-night you're Lothario, Bluebeard, and Lancelot all in one."
"I'm afraid you flatter me. First impressions are usually correct, I think. I'm an amiable gorilla. Perhaps by the time you visit my studio again, I may have reached the next link in the chain to the human." He laughed and then quickly turned the conversation to a topic less personal. "You will visit my studio next winter, won't you?"
"Of course. You're to do my portrait, you know? But I was hoping that you might stay on and paint it here at 'Wake-Robin'!"
He looked off toward Thimble Island a moment before replying.
"I'm sorry I can't. I have some engagements in New York and my passage is booked for Europe early in the month. I leave Thimble Island almost at once."
"Oh, that's unkind of you. Don't you find it sufficiently attractive here?"