I said that I would. I think I would have gone with him anywhere he asked me to.
“Meet us here at seven, then,” said Menna, returning to his work.
“All right. Good-bye.” Bonnat went out, slamming the door noisily behind him. We could hear him singing the “Preislied” from “Meistersinger” as he went up the stairs. He had a big, wonderful baritone voice. We stopped painting to listen to him, but when I turned to resume my work, I found Menna watching me. He said:
“You and Bonnat are getting pretty friendly, eh?”
I felt myself color warmly, but I tried to laugh, and said:
“Oh, no more than I am with any of the other boys.”
Menna had his thumb through his palette, and he stared at me hard. Then he said suddenly:
“Gee! What a fool I was to let him get ahead of me.”
He set down his palette, and came over to my stool:
“Say, Marion” (he had never called me Marion