"That" said Barbara, with a certain air of triumph, "is a secret of the workshop. Let's sit in the dining-room. It's the only way to hurry lunch."
To persons used to humbler ways of life Dr. Ferris's dining-room would have proved too large and stately a place for purposes of intimate conversation. Warriors and ladies looked down from the tapestried walls upon a small round table set with heavy silver and light glass for two, and having the effect, in the midst of an immense deep-blue rug, of a little island in a lake. But Barbara and Wilmot Allen, well used to even larger and more stately rooms, faced each other across the white linen with its pattern of lotus-plants and swans, and chatted as comfortably and unconcernedly as two children in their nursery.
But Barbara and Wilmot Allen, well used to even larger and more stately rooms, chatted ... as two children.
"As for holidays," said Barbara, "I have a new model, Wilmot; a wonderful person, and that means work. I may stay in town right through the summer."
Allen sighed loudly, and on purpose. "You make me tired," he said. "Bring a lump of clay down to Newport, and I'll sit for you."
Barbara affected to study his face critically. Then she shook her head. "My new model," she explained, "has got the face of a fallen angel. I think I can do it. And if I can do it, why, I see all the good things of sculping coming my way."
"An ordinary every-day angel face wouldn't do?" her guest insinuated. "I could go out and fall."
"I don't doubt it!" she returned somewhat crisply. "I feel very sure that you could disgrace yourself without trouble and even with relish. But it wouldn't show in your face. You see, you couldn't really be wicked."