I posted my letter and then started out to keep an engagement to pose for an illustrator on Huntington Avenue. He had a charming studio apartment in a new building. I knew both Mr. Snow and his wife pretty well, for I had posed for most of his later work. They had only been married a little while. She was very pretty, and sweet, too. He was a tall, rather lanky man of about thirty, and his long teeth stuck out in front under his mustache. He made a great deal of money, as he said he had the knack of making pretty girls’ faces, and that was what the magazines wanted.
He told me one day that there was a time when he had not known where his next meal would come from. Then he had met his wife. He said: “Her family are the Reynolds of Cambridge,
He started to button my waist for me, but while he was doing it he kissed me on the back of my neck.
and they had the dough all right.” She had really started him on the way to success.
He was in a very genial mood that afternoon, and chatted away while he drew my head. He was making a cover for a popular magazine. I had removed my waist, and arranged some drapery about my shoulders to give the effect of an evening gown.
When he was through, and I was buttoning up my waist in the back, he came behind me and said:
“Allow me,” and started to button my waist for me, but while he was doing it, he kissed me on the back of my neck.
“I think—” I began, when a sweet voice called from the doorway: