"No, of course not—if you feel that way," he said. "Only I—it occurred to me—some protection—some countenance—understanding—from other women——"
"I desire none. I want only your friendship."
"But how am I going to explain you——"
"You are a painter. I am your model. Is not that sufficient explanation?"
"Yes—if you desire to be so regarded—permanently——"
"I do. My privacy will then remain my own. I permit nobody to invade it—excepting you."
"Very well, if you feel that way.... Only, you are—attractive, Philippa—and I am rather afraid you might not be understood——"
She shrugged her shoulders:
"For five years I have not been understood. Do you know that men have even thrown dice for me, so certain were they that they understood me? I am accustomed to it. But I am not accustomed to women—I mean to your kind. I distrust them; possibly I am afraid of them. Anyway, their interest in me would be unwelcome. It is your friendship I want. Nothing else matters."
"You are wrong, Philippa. Other things do matter. No woman can go it alone, disdainful of other women's opinions."