''What an improvement, on your sketches from last month!''
''Do you think so, Mr Rivers?'' she would answer, all in a blush. ''Is not the pear a little lean? Had I not ought to practise my perspective?''
''The perspective is, perhaps, a little at fault,'' he''d say. ''But you have a gift, Miss Lilly, which surpasses mere technique. You have an eye for an essence. I am almost afraid to stand before you! I am afraid of what might be uncovered, were you to turn that eye upon me.''
He would say something like that, in a voice that would start off strong and then grow sweet, and breathless, and hesitating; and she would look as though she were a girl of wax and had moved too near to a fire. She would try the fruit again. This time the pear would come out like a banana. Then Gentleman would say that the light was poor, or the brush a bad one.
''If I might only take you to London, Miss Lilly, to my own studio there!''
That was the life he had faked up for himself—an artist''s life, in a house at Chelsea. He said he had many fascinating artist friends. Maud said, ''Lady artist friends, too?''
''Of course,'' he answered then. ''For I think that''—then he shook his head—''well, my opinions are irregular, and not to everyone''s taste. See here, try this line a little firmer.''
He went to her, and put his hand upon hers. She turned her face to his and said,