"No, Trevor, I really don't want to be selfish, and I do think you should have another, only…."
"Yes, only…?"
"Well, when a woman is in love she does so long to be able to assume all sorts of different forms, to be different women, so as to always please and amuse and satisfy the man she loves. How delightful it would be if one could change! One can be pretty, one can be amiable, clever, charming, anything, but one cannot be different from oneself; one must be the same, one can't get away from that."
I laughed.
"I don't want you to be different. I should be overwhelmed if you suddenly changed into some one else! And whatever models I have, you will always be the best. There could not be another such perfect figure as yours."
Viola smiled, but an absent look came into her face.
After luncheon we both went up to the studio together, and Viola was ensconced in my armchair when Veronica's knock came on the door.
I said, "Come in," and she entered with the confident air of the morning. Directly she saw Viola, however, she seemed to stiffen with resentment, and stood still by the door.
"Come in," I repeated, "and shut the door."
Viola looked at her kindly and laid down the charcoal sketch in her lap.