“Heavens! who uses such a perfume?”
He busied himself with the chair she was to sit in. “Oh, you’ve met her. Mrs. Jacobs.”
“Mrs. J—— Oh, yes! the yellow lady with much wealth. Well, you might make something odd and bizarre out of her. But perhaps she wants to be depicted as a blush-rose?”
“Don’t let’s talk about her. I don’t want to remember any other woman when you are here.... No, that arm isn’t quite right.” His hand was subtly caressing as he bent it into the position required, and it sent a little physical thrill through her. But when she met his eyes, he saw only a mocking light in them. All the same, he was quick to detect a slight difference in her attitude towards him. After the episode of the drive home from Hampstead he had been at first furiously angry, but after a while her very elusiveness had intrigued him to fresh efforts. His experience with women had been that they were always rather shy when it came to the last moves in the game; and Claudia was certainly a prize in the feminine market.
“You don’t know the happiness it gives me to work on your portrait.... Just look a little more to the left—a trifle more—yes, that’s right.... You must give me the chance of finishing it. I shall be restless and unhappy until it is done.... Don’t make me more unhappy than I am already,” he concluded softly.
The studio was very warm—too warm, and the scent still lingered in the air. It was an unpretentious apartment, but it had not that bare, unclothed look which distinguished some artists’ studios. Frank declared that he worked better in a coloursome atmosphere, and he had picked up some beautiful Oriental hangings, subdued but rich, which draped the walls with dull gold and reds. The few pieces of furniture were good. Frank had bought them very cheaply from a former tenant.
“I don’t see why you should be unhappy,” answered Claudia languidly, watching him mix some colours on his palette. “Young and successful, that ought to be enough to make a man happy.”
“Unsuccessful in the one thing that he really wants,” replied the man at the easel, with a quick glance at her.
Claudia knew it was injudicious to continue in this strain, but something within her, reckless and craving for excitement, urged her on.
“We never get the things we really want. That would be Paradise.... And what do you want so particularly?”