“You mean I shouldn't have liked your idea of me?”
“Didn't I say that it was good?” she returned with composed pride. “My idea of you wouldn't be good, as modeling. This is the real you, the man underneath.”
“That's worse. You think I oughtn't to like myself as I am.”
She looked up at him with intimate and sympathetic friendliness. “Well, do you?” was all she said.
“Whether I do or not, it's pretty evident what you think of me.”
“It ought to be. I've introduced you to Fluff. One can't be too careful as to whom one introduces to one's young and guileless daughter.”
“Thank you.” For the first time in their acquaintance he smiled. The smile changed his face luminously.
She tossed the tiny iron with which she was working into the far corner of the studio. “That settles it,” she said. “I'm through.”
“For the day?”
“Wrong! All wrong!” she cried vehemently, disregarding his question. “Why did you have to go and smile that way? I haven't done you at all. Do you know what I've been sculping you as?”