He was hardly ready when he heard the slight rattle of the handle, a faint rustling sound, and the swinging of the door again.
But he did not turn as a light step passed behind him, and a faint creaking sound announced that the model had mounted upon the dais.
He raised his eyes, and she was standing there apparently as he had seen her first, closely veiled, and still draped in the long, heavy, black cloak.
Then, with a quick movement, the long garment was thrown aside, and the model stood before him in the very attitude, and the perfection of her womanly beauty—a beauty made hideous in the ghastly effect produced by the black face and head swathed in the thick veil.
But this passed unnoticed by the artist, who, with a triumphant ejaculation, began to sketch rapidly, as he muttered to himself without vanity—
“Pacey is right: my canvas must be a success.”