Ruth came over to him and sat down on a low chair at his side. She put her arm round his waist and rested her head in the hollow of his shoulder.
“Is he pining for his horrid Vince girl, the poor boy?”
“He certainly is,” said Kirk. “Or at any rate, for some understudy to her.”
“We must think. Do they all call you Kirk?”
“I’ve never met one who didn’t.”
“What horrible creatures you artists are!”
“My dear kid, you don’t understand the thing at all. When you’re painting a model she ceases to be a girl at all. You don’t think of her as anything except a sort of lay-figure.”
“Good gracious! Does your lay-figure call you Kirk too?”
“It always looks as if it were going to.”
Ruth shuddered.