Viola was waiting in the dining-room, but not at the table. I went over to the window where she was standing, and showed her the sketches.
"Oh, Trevor, how lovely; how perfectly beautiful!" she exclaimed, gazing at the charcoal head.
"You have done that well, and what a glorious face!"
I flushed with pleasure.
"I'm so glad you like it. Come up this afternoon and see the model, see me work. Say you're out, and let's have tea in the studio."
"Very well," she answered as the luncheon came in; "I'll say we want tea up there. What a good idea to make her a Bacchante; it's the very face for it."
"Suppose I took her as a Bacchante dancing, the whole figure I mean, nude, under a canopy of vine leaves, make all the background, everything, green vines with clusters of purple grapes, and then have her dancing down the sort of avenue towards the foreground, with the light pouring down through the leaves. How do you think that would be?"
"I should think it would be lovely," Viola answered slowly, with a little sigh.
I looked across at her quickly.
"You would like to be my only model for the body?" I said gently, keeping my eyes on her face.