An unquiet little pulse began to beat in her breast; she looked up at him, but he was smiling so amiably that she smiled, too.
Mortally afraid of frightening her, he could not exactly estimate how much she divined of what was to be required of her.
He continued patiently: "Unless a student dissects he can never become a surgeon. It is the same with us; our inspiration and originality must be founded on a solid study of the human body. That is why we must always have before us as perfect a living model as we can find."
"Do—do you think—" she stopped, pink and confused.
"I think," he said, quietly impersonal, "that, speaking as a sculptor, you are as perfect and as beautiful a model as ever the old Greek masters saw, alive or in their dreams."
"I—did not—know it," she faltered, thrilling from head to foot.
They entered the corridor together. Her breath came faster as he unlocked his door and, turning up a lamp, invited her to enter.
At last in the magic world! And with him!
Figured tapestries hung from the golden mystery of the ceiling; ancient dyes glowed in the soft rugs under foot; the mellow light glimmered on dull foliations. She stood still, looking about her as in a trance.
"All this I will buy back again with your help," he said, laughingly; but his unsteady voice betrayed the tension to which he was keyed. A slow excitement was gaining on her, too.