“Oh, but I do not mean until you have quite done with him, dear.”
“You would not do,” said Dale bluntly.—“Quite still now, please, Lady Dellatoria.”
“Alack and alas! not to be beautiful. But would your present sitter do?”
“I should not presume to ask Lady Dellatoria to sit for a study in a picture to be publicly exhibited,” said the young man coldly.
“But you—so famous.—Ah, here is the Conte!”
“Yes; what is it?” said Dellatoria, entering. “Want me?”
“I knew it,” thought the Contessa. “It was an appointment.”
“Yes, to judge. That picture of Mr Dale’s. You know—the one we saw that day at his studio.”
The Conte’s eyes contracted a little, and he glanced at his wife, whose face was calm and smiling.
“Oh yes, I remember,” he said—then, in an aside, “You little fool.—What about it?” he added aloud.