A warm tide of colour spread over the upturned face.
‘You should n’t do that without asking my leave.’
‘A man must take his chances where he finds them,’ said the artist. ‘I don’t often get such a chance as this. I am a poor man, and can’t afford to let an opportunity slip.’
He had a shrewd sallow face and kind merry eyes, and as he spoke he paused in his work and smiled down at her.
‘I don’t want to be disobliging,’ said Rosalie, ‘but I—I don’t like it. I fell asleep by accident—I should n’t have thrown myself down like this if I had thought anyone was likely to see me.’
‘All the better,’ commented he. ‘You could n’t have put yourself into such a position if you had tried to. It has evidently come naturally, and it is simply perfect.’
He paused to squeeze out a little colour from one of the tiny tubes in his open box, and again smiled encouragingly down at his model.
‘Now will you oblige me by closing your eyes again? No, don’t screw them up like that; let the lids drop gently—so, very good. ’T is a pity to hide the eyes—one does not often see blue eyes with such Murillo colouring; but the length of the lashes makes amends, and I want you asleep.’
Again a wave of colour swept over Rosalie’s face: the stranger marked it approvingly, and worked on.
‘Is it nearly done?’ she inquired presently. ‘You said you would only be a moment.’