THE BOND
I
THE painter had worked for half an hour almost silently, absorbed in his task; and his sitter had watched him with interest which finally demanded a more active expression. She moved abruptly and said with a plaintive air:
"Do you know, I think I'm tired. I'd like to rest a little now."
"Oh, of course—I beg your pardon, I'm afraid I wasn't thinking of the time," he said quickly, but still hovering before his canvas he splashed in another touch or two of violet colour and then stood back, frowning, and blinking his eyes as though suddenly roused. "Have we been at it very long?"
"Hours, I think," said the lady, smiling and stretching her arms languidly. "It's gone well to-day, hasn't it?"
"Awfully well. But I'm afraid I've been a brute, keeping you at it so." He laid down his brushes and looked at his watch. "By Jove, it's nearly five! Why didn't you speak before?"
"Oh, I hated to interrupt, you seemed so interested. And I was interested, too, watching your face. But I should like some tea now. Shall I make it?"
