“Me?”
“Yes, if you will let me, I can do us both justice, and you will be counted the dream of all New York.”
She listened to his speech like the bird that flutters around the dazzling serpent; she was fascinated by this dangerous man, and neither able nor honestly willing to escape.
“Besides, I will make your portrait for Mrs. Stanhope free of charge,” was the artist’s afterthought.
“I could not accept so much from you,” she answered, promptly.
“I offered it by way of rewarding your own generosity, but come, say you will pose for me anyhow.”
She regarded him frankly and without embarrassment.
“I will if it is perfectly proper for me to do so. Surely, though, you would not ask me to do it if it were wrong.”
“Not for the world,” he replied magnanimously. “It is entirely proper, many a lady comes there alone. ‘In art there is no sex, you know.’”