“I can’t paint so well by night. The color looks different in the day. But I’d give anything to be able to paint something as pretty as you.”
Priscilla swept her glass aside, pettishly.
“Lan’ sakes, what a boy! Pictures, pictures, pictures! If it ain’t the ceilin’, it’s me! There are better things on this earth than pictures, Matt.”
Matt shook his head, with a sceptical smile.
Priscilla looked disconcerted. “Why, didn’t you say I was prettier than a picture, Matt?”
“Oh, that’s different,” he parried, feebly; then, feeling her fascination lulling him to forgetfulness of the price to be paid for his dinner, as well as of the mute appeal of his damaged designs, he jumped up. “I’d best see to the ceiling before it’s too late. I wonder if they’ve kept the materials handy.”
“Set down, Matt.”
“Oh, but I mustn’t cheat the boss.”
“Who’s talkin’ o’ cheatin’? This is my treat.”