"Of course we would!" said Mrs. Morrow, picking up her crayon again. "Indeed, we have to have two most of the time."
They all kept very quiet for a while after that, Joy sitting still in her robes of state, a slim young Justice presiding over an as yet undrawn Senate, and the Morrows working hard at her. She had been posing for another half hour, when there came a whirlwind of steps up the stairs, and the door banged open.
"Mrs. Morrow, can you let me have some fixative?" called a voice; and Joy moved her eyes cautiously, and saw a pretty, panting girl in the doorway. She looked like an artist, too, for she had a smudge of paint on one vivid cheek, and her black hair was untidily down over her gipsy eyes.
"Nice model you've got—good skin tints—oh, don't bother about the fixative if you're working. I see it."
She darted in, past Joy, snatched a bottle half full of something yellow, and was out again before any one could speak.
"I'm hurrying," she called superfluously back as she fled to the floor below. "Giving a dance tonight."
Joy, most mousy-quiet in her chair, mentally registered another requirement toward being the kind of girl she ought to be. There were such lots of wonderful things to learn!
She went to the Morrows regularly every day after that, six days in all. She told Grandmother where she was, not what she was doing. It didn't occur to her that Grandmother would mind, but she thought it would be pleasanter to surprise her, and say, "See the lovely dress I earned all myself, posing for the Morrows!"
Meanwhile, Grandmother, pleased at her little girl's brightened face and general happiness of demeanor, asked no questions.
"You've been one of the best models we ever had, my dear," said Mrs. Morrow in her deep, unceremonious voice, when the last day came. "And it occurred to me that you might be too hurried when the last day came to do your shopping yourself. So I just ran uptown and got your pretties for you."