"Dear
me," she said, "I hope I am not intruding upon the claims of some absent
affinity."
Aaron King gravely held out his hand with the package of letters, saying
quietly, "They are from my mother."
And the woman had sufficient grace to blush, for once, with unfeigned
shame.
When he had received her apologies, and, putting aside the letters, had
succeeded in making her forget the incident, he said, "And now, if you are
ready, shall we begin?"
For some time the painter stood before the picture on his easel, without
touching palette or brush, studying the face of the woman who posed for
him. By a slight movement of her eyes, without turning her head, she could
look him fairly in the face. Presently as he continued to gaze at her so
intently, she laughed; and, with a little shrug of her shoulders and a
pretense as of being cold, said, "When you look at me that way, I feel as
though you had surprised me at my bath."
The artist turned his attention instantly to his color-box. While setting
his palette, with his eyes upon his task, he said deliberately, "'Venus
Surprised at the Bath.' Do you know that you would make a lovely Venus?"
With a low laugh, she returned, daringly.
Pages:
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351