“I’ll pose again on one condition——”
“Yes.”
“That you put on overalls.”
The brushes and palette dropped to his side. “That’s rough on Slovenly Peter,” he laughed. He set about squeezing the paint tubes, wiping the brush handles and edge of the palette. When the pose was over Julie appeared. The artist drew the grey drapery over the easel and helped Miss Darrow to descend.
CHAPTER XIV
These mornings in the studio were full of subtleties. Miss Darrow discovered that Burnett could talk upon many subjects. He had traveled much in Europe, and could even draw a bold outline for her of the East, which she had never seen. He talked little of art, and then only when the subject was introduced by his model. In the rests, which were long, he led Miss Darrow, often without her being aware of it, down pleasant lanes of thought, all of which seemed to end abruptly in the garish sunshine of personality. She did not find it unpleasant; only it seemed rather surprising the way all formality between them had been banished.
One morning there was a diversion. A clatter on the knocker and Burnett, frowning, went to the door. Miss Darrow heard a feminine voice and an exclamation. Burnett went rather hurriedly and stood outside, his hand upon the door knob. There was a murmur of conversation and a feminine laugh. She tried not to hear what was said. The hand fidgeted on the knob, but the murmur of voices continued. Miss Darrow got down from the throne and moved to the window, adjusting a stray curl as she passed.
She looked away from the mirror, then stopped suddenly and looked again. When Burnett entered she was sitting in the window-seat, looking out over the roof-tops. He was profuse in apology. She resumed the pose and the artist painted silently. “They say there’s a pleasure in painting that only a painter knows,” she began.