As she stood there now on the model stand, gazing dreamily from his
busy hands to his lean, intent features, it occurred to her that
this day had not been a sample of their usual humdrum relations.
From the very beginning of their business relations he had remained
merely her employer, self-centered, darkly absorbed in his work, or,
when not working, bored and often yawning. She had never come to
know him any better than when she first laid eyes on him.
Always she had been a little interested in him, a little afraid,
sometimes venturing an innocent audacity, out of sheer curiosity
concerning the effect on him. But never had she succeeded in
stirring him to any expression of personal feeling in regard to
herself, one way or the other.
Probably he had no personal feeling concerning her. It seemed odd
to her; model and master thrown alone together, day after day,
usually became friends in some degree. But there had been nothing at
all of camaraderie in their relationship, only a colorless,
professional sans-gene, the informality of intimacy without the
kindly essence of personal interest on his part.
He paid her wages promptly; said good morning when she came, and
good night when she went; answered her questions when she asked them
seriously; relapsed into indifference or into a lazy and not too
civil badinage when she provoked him to it; and that was all.
He never complimented her, never praised her; yet he must have
thought her a good model, or he would not have continued to send for
her.
"Do you think me pretty?" she had asked one day, saucily invading
one of his yawning silences.
"I think you're pretty good," he replied, "as a model. You'd be
quite perfect if you were also deaf and dumb."
That had been nearly a year ago. She thought of it now, a slight
heat in her cheeks as she remembered the snub, and her almost
childish amazement, and the hurt and offended silence which lasted
all that morning, but which, if he noticed at all, was doubtless
entirely gratifying to him.
"May I rest?"
"If it's necessary."
She sprang lightly to the floor walked around behind him, and stood
looking at his work.
"Do you want to know my opinion?" she asked.
"Yes," he said, with unexpected urbanity; "if you are clever enough
to have an opinion. What is it?"
She said, looking at the wax figure of herself and speaking with
deliberation: "In the last hour you have made out of a rather commonplace study an
entirely spontaneous and charming creation."