Billy's face lengthened.
"'Tis 'mong friends I speak?" Billy dropped his voice. Both men nodded. "Well, Janet is a modil t' some of them dirty-aproned women painters! An' I want t' see just how they've took her, an' what they calkerlate t' do with the picter! Andrew Farley has been modilin' fur them, an' Andy's 'count of how he looks in paint ain't pleasant. I don't know as I want Janet shown up in the city kinder onsightly."
During this explanation Mark's countenance had assumed an expression of intense suffering. Bits of gossip arose like channel stakes in the troubled water of his misery. Like the bits of red cloth which marked the stakes in the bay, Susan Jane's emphasis of such gossip fluttered wildly in this hour. Through the channel, clearly set by these signals, was a wide course leading direct to a certain hut upon the Hills of which silent, watchful Mark knew!
"She ain't no modil, Cap'n, don't say that!" he finally managed to get out; "that's jest scandalous gossip."
"She told me herself!" Billy brought his tilted chair to the floor; "an' I got t' keep this visit secret. But, since the gal ain't got no mother, I've got t' do double duty. Knowin' how up in city ways ye are, Mark, I thought maybe ye'd pilot me on this trip. I'm turrible clumsy with strangers, specially women, an' I want t' do what's right."
"'Tain't—a—woman!" This declaration was wrung from Mark.
"What's that?" Billy sprang from his chair.
"Now, Markie, do be keerful!" cautioned Pa, "don't make no statement ye can't stand by. Nation! that fat is burnin'!"
"I said, 'twarn't no woman painter as done Janet. If she has been a modil—an' 'twere you as said that—she's been one to a man!"
The horror on Billy's face was pitiful.