"No," I said, somewhat nettled; "certainly not. This was quite a respectable girl. I have quantities of these portraits and sketches. Look here," and I opened the portfolio and spread out several pictures on the rug.
Suzee drew herself together, tightly pursed up her and looked down at them with alarm,—as if I had let loose a number of snakes.
"They are very, very wicked things," she said, primly as a dissenting minister's wife; and lowered her eyelids till the lashes lay like black silk on the cheeks.
I gathered the offending sketches together and pushed them back under cover.
"I wanted you to pose for me," I said, "that I might have your picture, too; but I expect you won't do so for me?"
"I! I!" said Suzee, with virtuous indignation, "be put on paper like that? I would die first." Her face had thickened all over as the blood went into it. Her eyes looked stormy, alluring.
I leant towards her suddenly as we sat side by side, put my arms round her waist, drew her to me, and pressed my lips on the ridiculous little screwed-up mouth, with a sudden access of passion that left her breathless.
"You are a horrid little humbug, and goose, and prude," I said, laughing, as I released her. "What do you think of letting me kiss you like that, then? Is that wrong?"
Suzee sighed heavily, swaying her pliable body only a very little way from me.
"It may be—a little" she admitted; "but it's not like the pictures."