“Next pose,” said the young man, squeezing out more color.
And so the afternoon wore away, and at six o’clock Gethryn threw down his brushes with a long-drawn breath.
“That’s all for today. Now, Elise, when can you give me the next pose? I don’t want a week at a time on this; I only want a day now and then.”
The model went over to her dress and rummaged about in the pockets.
“Here,” she said, handing him a notebook and diary.
He selected a date, and wrote his name and the hour.
“Good,” said the girl, reading it; and replacing the book, picked up her stockings and slowly began to dress.
Gethryn lay back on the lounge, thoroughly tired out. Elise was humming a Normandy fishing song. When, at last, she stood up and drew on her gloves, he had fallen into a light sleep.
She stepped softly over to the lounge and listened to the quiet breathing of the young man.
“How handsome—and how good he is!” she murmured, wistfully.