ously, now and then, as a canvas and a handful of paints!"
"Dear Mrs. Perry," said Basil quickly, and it seemed the right thing to do to lay his hand on hers. But at that moment the kettle, like an echo, boiled over passionately, and the lady hastily made tea.
"You know," he went on, "how much I'm interested in you, in your personality, and how much I've enjoyed these talks. A human being interests me much more than a canvas and a handful of paints—but in so many different ways that the expression, at one time and another, is different"
"Oh, I quite understand," said the lady quickly, as she gave him his cup of tea. "And you know I'm interested in your work," she assured him emphatically. "One reason I wanted to stop posing to-day is that you promised to show me some drawings, you know."
"Yes, of course, if you like"
He started to put down his cup, but she said petulantly, "Oh, finish your tea first. I'm in no hurry—I mean, to go away."
"I'm awfully sorry, but I've got an engagement a little later," said Basil, and he absently looked at his watch again. "Teresa's coming in. She's due now, but she's always late." He smiled at that. "I daresay we'll have time for tea and the drawings, too, before she gets round."
