to choose her words a sudden suspicion darted into her mind. This was a studio, and the owner of it was an artist, and he had found her hanging about another man's studio. How could he be supposed to know that she was only having her portrait painted, and was not a professional model at all? The idea, when she had once grasped it, amused her immensely; and she resolved impulsively to play the part he expected from her. The adventure was promising well, she thought.
"What fun!" she said aloud, and her host glanced up at her and frowned. Of course, she wanted him to frivol with her, and he did not mean to be frivoled with. So he said nothing to encourage her, and she sat down and scanned the room critically. It was very bare, and rather dusty.
"I suppose it's because you're a man," she observed, suddenly. She was only finishing her thoughts out loud, but to him it sounded like another attempt to draw him into conversation, and he felt irritated by her persistence. He never wanted to talk much at any time, and his attitude towards the confidences of his models was one of absolute indifference. He did not care to know why they had become models, nor how their people had lost their money, nor what sort of homes they had ; they were there to be drawn, that was all. But he realised vaguely that Anna was there by his invitation, and he made an effort to be civil.
"It accounts for most of my actions, yes," he said, and set down the board and began filling his pipe.
"I mean," she explained, "that if you were a woman you might make this place look awfully nice. You could have flowers, for instance, and"
"Oh yes," he interrupted; "and photographs, and muslin, and screens."
" Well, you might," she said, calmly. "But I shouldn't.
