“In that case quite a lot of people might be afraid to have their portraits painted by you—beauty being so much in the eye of the beholder!” returned Magda with the flippancy that is so often only the defence behind which a woman takes refuge.
“I don’t think so. As a matter of fact I have no objection to painting a plain face—provided there’s a beautiful soul behind it.”
“But I suppose a beautiful soul in a beautiful body would satisfy you better?”
“It might, if such a combination existed.”
Magda flushed a little.
“You don’t think it does?”
The grey, contemptuous eyes swept her face suddenly.
“My experience has not led me to think so.”
There was an almost calculated insolence in the careless answer. It was as though he had tossed her an epitome of his opinion of her. Magda’s spirit rose in opposition.
“Perhaps your experience has been somewhat limited,” she observed.