"Of course," said Paul.
The lack of enthusiasm in his tone chilled the girl's heart. But she did not protest. In these days, in spite of occasional outspokenness she was still a humble little girl worshipping her brilliant companion from afar.
"How often could I come?" she asked.
"That," said he, in his boyish pashadom, "would depend on how good you were."
Obedient to the thought processes of her sex, she made a bee line to the particular.
"Oh, Paul, I hope you're not angry."
"At what?"
"At what I said about your being a model."
"Not a bit," said he. "If I hadn't wanted to know your opinion, I wouldn't have asked you."
She brightened. "You really wanted to know what I thought?"