“It’s all right where it is, unless you have a larger picture to hang there.”
“Now, while you’re unable to walk around, why don’t you sit for a portrait—you’ll never have another time when the sittings will be less irksome. I’d come here and Ruth could come with me as a chaperon, not that I need one, but we might as well be perfectly proper when it’s just as pleasant—you know,” she continued, slightly embarrassed by the smiles on the faces of Nels, Professor Pendragon, and Ruth. “I’m not looking for a commission at all; I just want to paint you because you will make an interesting subject, and because, if I can hang you—I mean get your picture hung in the Academy, I will get real commissions, just because you sat for me. Now I’ve been perfectly frank,” she finished.
Pendragon held out his hand to her, laughing:
“Any of those numerous reasons ought to be enough,” he said, “and if my infirmity lasts long enough, I’ll be glad to have you come and help me kill time.”
“Better start before next dark of the moon,” said Ruth mischievously.
“That gives you only ten more days,” said Pendragon.
“You don’t really believe in those things?”—Dorothy’s blue eyes were wide with distress—“Please tell me the truth; Nels, they’re just teasing, aren’t they?”
“Of course, you know they are; don’t be a silly goose, Dot,” said Nels.
“I know they are, but even if they don’t believe in all they say, they believe in something that I don’t understand, now, don’t you?—confess.”
She turned to Ruth, but it was Pendragon who answered.