“You mustn’t be afraid. You’ll never make a success as a model if you are afraid. Now to work.”
He motioned her to a dais, on which stood a chair that seemed all curves.
“Sit there and loosen your hair.”
The girl obeyed. It fell in a sheen of gold around her. He handed her a brush.
“Brush it out so that it is like an aura.”
She did not understand, but brushed and brushed, with long, sweeping strokes. The old man had forgotten he was anything but a painter.
“Fine,” he said enthusiastically. “Now raise your head and look at the statuette above the book case. There! That’s good. Just hold the position. I will make a preliminary study to-day.”
The girl sat quite still, and the old man painted intently. She posed until luncheon, which she ate with Madame Mangepain in the kitchen, and at two o’clock returned to the studio and resumed the pose. At five o’clock the old man laid down his brush and rubbed his hands.
“There! I’ve finished. Come and see it.”
She looked at the beautiful bit of brush work. She could not believe that this ethereal girl-face with the eyes so thrillingly blue and the nimbus of bright gold hair was herself. The old man observed her awe with satisfaction.