And now he permitted himself to wonder how much there really might be to that agreeable sentiment he entertained for, perhaps, the prettiest girl he had ever met in his life, and, possibly, the most delightful.
XVIII
THE BABBLER
The double apartment in Dragon Court, swept by such vagrant July breezes as wandered into the heated city, had become lively with preparations for departure.
Barres fussed about, collecting sketching paraphernalia, choosing brushes, colours, canvases, field kits, and costumes from his accumulated store, and boxing them for transportation to Foreland Farms, with the languid assistance of Aristocrates.
Westmore had only to ship a modelling stand, a handful of sculptors’ tools, and a ton or two of Plasteline, an evil-smelling composite clay, very useful to work with.
But the storm centre of preparation revolved around Dulcie. And Thessalie, enchanted with her new rôle as adviser, bargainer, and purchaser, and always attaching either Westmore or Barres to her skirts when she and Dulcie sallied forth, was selecting and accumulating a charming and useful little impedimenta. For the young girl had never before owned a single pretty thing, except those first unpremeditated gifts of Barres’, and her happiness in these expeditions was alloyed with trepidation at Thessalie’s extravagance, and deep misgivings concerning her ultimate ability to repay out of the salary allowed her as a private model.
Intoxicated by ownership, she watched Thessalie and Selinda laying away in her brand-new trunk the lovely 234 things which had been selected. And one day, thrilled but bewildered, she went into the studio, where Barres sat opening his mail, and confessed her fear that only lifelong devotion in his service could ever liquidate her overwhelming financial obligations to him.
He had begun to laugh when she opened the subject: