“I didn’t suppose you were.”
Again there was a pause, in which Miss Van Tuyn felt a tingling of impatient irritation.
“I suppose you are doing this merely to whet my appetite,” she said presently, unable to bear the unnatural silence. “Of course I know you have finished the picture at last. You have asked me to come here to see it. Then why on earth not let me see it? All this waiting can’t come from timidity. I know you don’t care for opinion so long as your own is satisfied.”
He sent her an odd look that was almost boyish in its half mischievous, half wistful roguishness.
“My girl, you speak about a painter with great assurance, and, let me add, with great ignorance. I’ll tell you the plain truth for once. I’ve been keeping you down here out of sheer diffidence. Now then!”
“Dick!”
His lean blue cheeks slightly reddened as he looked at her. She knew he had spoken the truth, and was touched. She got up quickly, went to him, and put one hand on his shoulder.
“You are afraid of me! But no—I can’t believe it!”
“Ha!”
He got up.