"No, those are just the questions that I have to ask myself every day and find on some days that I haven't got the answer. It's a riddle, you know. We don't every day quite find the answer to it. I reckon we would never go on if we did, but it's good sport to ask and try to find out, and, believe me, Miss Nora Scarlet, two are better than one at a riddle, aren't they?"
"Oh, very much." They went along leisurely and after a second she continued: "It's lonely in Paris for a girl who doesn't want to go in for lots of things, and I have been getting muddled. But the worst muddle is pounds, shillings and pence"—she laughed musically—"it's reduced to pence at last, but I don't find the muddle reduced a bit."
"You want to do portraits?" he asked.
"Yes, I haven't an idea about anything else."
The trees above their heads made leafy bowers in summer, but now between the fine bare branches, they saw the delicate wintry sky, pale with the fading light of what had been a rare January day.
"Suppose I get an order for you to paint a portrait and you are paid in advance."
She stopped, holding him back by the arm, and exclaimed, joyously
"Oh, but you could not!"
"Suppose that I can. If I do succeed and you paint the portrait, will you do something for me?"