“Oh,” she said, relieved.
“Also,” he said, “I have asked Miss Souval—that tall, pretty girl who sometimes sits for Mr. Trenor—Damaris Souval. You remember her?”
“Yes.”
“Also,” he continued, “Mr. Mandel wishes to bring a young married woman who has developed a violent desire for the artistic and informal, but who belongs in the Social Register.” He laughed. “It’s all right if Corot Mandel wants her. Her name is Mrs. Helmund—Elsena Helmund. Mr. Trenor is painting her.”
Dulcie’s face was serious but calm.
“And then, to even the table,” concluded Barres smilingly, “I invited a girl I knew long ago in Paris. Her name is Thessalie Dunois; and she’s very lovely to look upon, Dulcie. I am very sure you will like her.”
There was a silence; then the electric bell rang in the corridor, announcing the arrival of the first guest. As Barres rose, Dulcie laid her hand on his arm—a swift, involuntary gesture—as though the girl were depending on his protection.
The winning appeal touched him and amused him, too.
“Don’t worry, dear,” he said. “You’ll have the prettiest frock in the studio—if you need that knowledge to reassure you——”