“Don't get up,” he said; “I want to talk to you.”
The little model obediently resumed her seat. A silence followed. She had on the old brown skirt and knitted jersey, the old blue-green tam-o'-shanter cap, and there were marks of weariness beneath her eyes.
At last Hilary remarked: “How are you getting on?”
The little model looked at her feet.
“Pretty well, thank you, Mr. Dallison.”
“I came to see you yesterday.”
She slid a look at him which might have meant nothing or meant much, so perfect its shy stolidity.
“I was out,” she said, “sitting to Miss Boyle.”
“So you have some work?”
“It's finished now.”