"I have been looking at your head here and thinking it so beautiful," she said gently.
Veronica only stared at her a little ungraciously in return, and took off her hat in silence.
I put her back into position, re-arranged the fillet on her head, and set to work to complete the colour study.
We worked in unbroken silence till tea was brought up at four. Viola rose to make it, and I told the girl to get up and move about if she liked, and I set the canvas aside to dry. Viola offered the girl a cup of tea, but she refused it and went and sat under the window on an old couch, leaving us by the table.
The canvas was a success in a way so far, but the great sweetness of the expression in the charcoal sketch of the morning was not there.
When tea was over I went up to Veronica and told her I must leave the canvas of the head to dry, I could not work more on it then, and asked her if she would pose for me as the Bacchante dancing. I wanted to see if she would do for a larger picture.
I got no answer for a minute. Veronica looked down and began to pull at the faded fringe of an old cushion.
At last I repeated my question.
"Not while she's here," she muttered in a low, fierce tone.
I was surprised at the resentment in look and voice.