Between Friends

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."