“The frock does not trouble me,” said Jim. “It is that incredible hat that I am exercised about.”
“Incredible hat?” said Lady Charlotte Greg.
“She wear-eth an in-cred-ible hat,” said Jim.
Without preface or apology Miss Perry seated herself in the center of the sofa and assumed her pose.
“A singularly beautiful sitter,” said Lady Charlotte Greg, “and singularly placable.”
With an ostentation that in the circumstances was remarkable, Jim Lascelles placed the plate of cream buns on a small table at a respectful distance from the sofa.
“I must now,” said Jim, courteously, “request the public to withdraw.”
“Rembrandt himself could not have bettered it,” said Cheriton, as he stood by the door to shepherd into the garden five irresponsible creatures who were babbling incoherent criticism of the fine arts.
By the time Miss Perry returned to the little sitting-room she had duly earned, received, and assimilated two cream buns, Buszard’s large size. For her the sitting had been a decided success, and Jim Lascelles was inclined to view it in that light also. Already he had put an immense amount of labor into the picture, and he was now beginning to feel that the end was in sight. And looking at it as it grew, touching and retouching it continually, learning to treat every detail with a boldness and a delicacy of which he had hardly dared to believe himself to be capable, he could not help feeling that this work stood for growth.
Already he knew himself to be artistically thrice the stature of when it was begun. Something had been born in him. It was the culmination of seven years’ single-minded and assiduous labor. Indeed, Jim Lascelles was almost beginning to realize that some fine morning he might wake to find himself famous.