“That comes well from you. Look at your own cuff.”
“By Jove, yes! It's worse than yours. I don't think we've much altered in anything. Let's see, though.” He looked at Maisie critically. The pale blue haze of an autumn day crept between the tree-trunks of the Park and made a background for the gray dress, the black velvet toque above the black hair, and the resolute profile.
“No, there's nothing changed. How good it is! D'you remember when I fastened your hair into the snap of a hand-bag?”
Maisie nodded, with a twinkle in her eyes, and turned her full face to Dick.
“Wait a minute,” said he. “That mouth is down at the corners a little. Who's been worrying you, Maisie?”
“No one but myself. I never seem to get on with my work, and yet I try hard enough, and Kami says——”
“'Continuez, mesdemoiselles. Continuez toujours, mes enfants.' Kami is depressing. I beg your pardon.”
“Yes, that's what he says. He told me last summer that I was doing better and he'd let me exhibit this year.”
“Not in this place, surely?”
“Of course not. The Salon.”