“Well,” he exclaimed happily, “what do you fellows think of Soane’s little girl now? Isn’t she the sweetest thing you ever heard of?”
“A peach!” said Westmore, in his quick, hearty voice. “What’s the idea, Garry? Is it to be her career, this posing business? And where is it going to land her? In the Winter Garden?”
“Where is it going to land you?” added Esmé impudently.
“Why, I don’t know, myself,” replied Barres, with a troubled smile. “The little thing always appealed to me—her loneliness and neglect, and—and something about the child—I can’t define it——”
“Possibilities?” suggested Mandel viciously. “Take it from me, you’re some picker, Garry.”
“Perhaps. Anyway, I’ve given her the run of my place for the last two years and more. And she has been growing up all the while, and I didn’t notice it. And suddenly, this spring, I discovered her for the first time.... And—well, look at her to-night!”
“She’s your private model, isn’t she?” persisted Mandel.
“Entirely,” replied Barres drily.
“Selfish dog!” remarked Westmore, with his lively, wholesome laugh. “I once asked her to sit for me—more out of good nature than anything else. And a jolly fine little model she ought to make you, Garry. She’s beginning to acquire a figure.”
“She’s quite wonderful that way, too,” nodded Barres.