‘I find it will take several moments, but I am sure you would not grudge me the time if you knew what a wonderful piece of good fortune this is for me.’
‘How can it be good fortune for you?’
‘Don’t frown, please; let the lids lie loosely. I will tell you why I consider this meeting a piece of good fortune. Do you know what it is to make bread-and-butter?’
‘I make butter three times a week,’ returned Rosalie, somewhat amused; ‘and I make bread too, sometimes.’
‘Well, I have got to make bread-and-butter every day of my life, not only for myself, but for my wife and six small children, and I have nothing to make it with but this. You may open your eyes for a moment if you don’t move otherwise.’
Rosalie opened her eyes, and saw that he was bending towards her, and holding out a paint-brush.
‘Now, go to sleep again,’ he went on. ‘Yes, that’s what I make my bread-and-butter with; and it is n’t always an easy task, because there are a great many other chaps who want to make bread-and-butter in the same kind of way, and we can never be quite sure which among the lot of us will find the best market for his wares. But I shall have no difficulty in disposing of you, I am certain—therefore, I consider myself in luck.’
‘Do you mean that you will sell that little picture of me?’
‘Not this one, but a big one which I shall make from it. It will go to an exhibition, and people will come and look at it. As the subject is quite new and very pretty, I shall ask a big price for it, and there will be lots of bread-and-butter for a long time to come.’
‘But would anybody care to buy a picture of a woman whom they don’t know, lying asleep in a cornfield?’ cried Rosalie incredulously, and involuntarily raising her drooped lids.