"Well," I replied, knowing I would have to make a step somehow, "Whistler painted a Lady in White, so I thought I would call this the Lady in Pink; and if it comes out and I really get you——"
"If you really get me?"
"Why, yes; if I can just catch you the way I want you; that is one of the troubles of the artist, you know—he never really is sure whether he is going to be able to get what he wants or——"
"Not even when he is so eager about it?"
"No, not always then," I laughed, wondering though if she didn't know that inspiration was in truth something more than eagerness.
"Not even—when he is painting in a garden—like this?"
Her eyes were brimming with a half-concealed mirth.
"Oh, this garden is a lovely place," I answered, "but it wouldn't make all the picture—there's got to be some spirit in it beside—a kind of informing mood. Now it is very quiet here and you are posing for me——"
"Oh! so I must be quiet, too?"