“I think sitting for one’s portrait is only one of the various forms of idleness,” said Mr. Wentworth. “Their name is legion.”
“My dear sir,” cried Felix, “you can’t be said to be idle when you are making a man work so!”
“One might be painted while one is asleep,” suggested Mr. Brand, as a contribution to the discussion.
“Ah, do paint me while I am asleep,” said Gertrude to Felix, smiling. And she closed her eyes a little. It had by this time become a matter of almost exciting anxiety to Charlotte what Gertrude would say or would do next.
She began to sit for her portrait on the following day—in the open air, on the north side of the piazza. “I wish you would tell me what you think of us—how we seem to you,” she said to Felix, as he sat before his easel.
“You seem to me the best people in the world,” said Felix.
“You say that,” Gertrude resumed, “because it saves you the trouble of saying anything else.”
The young man glanced at her over the top of his canvas. “What else should I say? It would certainly be a great deal of trouble to say anything different.”
“Well,” said Gertrude, “you have seen people before that you have liked, have you not?”
“Indeed I have, thank Heaven!”