To his cousin, a little later, he remarked:
'You're standing on a quite false pedestal of superiority, you know. Because you're going to paint her yourself. Where's the difference?'
'Ah, well, there is some. To me she's frankly copy, you see; I shall pretend nothing else; I shan't call it making friends—don't you see? There's where it comes in.'
'All the same, you'll be doing what you repudiate; you'll be making use for your own ends of what you wouldn't otherwise have anything to do with. You're in a false position; you can't escape that by sophistries.'
'If I am, I shall have to be more than ever careful not to make it falser by throwing veils over it,' said Prudence Varley consideringly.
She had the air of a person of a very delicate sense of justice—delicate almost to exaggeration. One detected it in her farsighted grey eyes, with the twinkle that lurked just within call.
Warren chuckled.
'Poor model! You needn't make it so hard as all that for her; let her have a veil or two—it's so much more comfortable.'
Prudence shook her head with decision.
'It wouldn't be fair; it would be ugly.'