"May I smoke?" he asked abruptly.
Gillian turned with a quick smile.
"But, of course. What need to ask? After Aunt Caro has been here for an hour the room is blue."
For another ten minutes he watched her in silence, free to look as he would, for her back was toward him and in his position before the fire he was beyond the range of the little model's inquisitive black eyes.
Then she laid palette and brushes on a near table and stepped back, frowning at what she had done until a smile came slowly to chase the creases from her forehead. She spoke without moving, still looking at the canvas: "That is all for to-day, Danny. The light has gone."
The small boy stretched himself luxuriously, and descending from the platform, joined her and gazed with evident interest at his portrait. He peered in unconscious but faithful imitation of her own critical attitude, his head slanted at the same angle as hers. "It's coming on," he announced solemnly, and Craven guessed from the girl's laugh that it was a repetition of some remark heard and stored up for future use. The boy grinned in response, and slipping behind her went to the table where she had laid her tools. "Can I clean palut?" he asked hopefully, his hand already half-way to the coveted mass of colour.
"Not to-day, thanks, Danny."
"Shall I fetch th' dog, Miss?" more hopefully. Gillian turned to him quickly.
"He bit you last time."
Danny wriggled his feet and his small white teeth flashed in a wide smile. "He won't bite I again," he said confidently. "Mammy said 'twas 'cos he loved you and hated to have folks near you. She said I was to whisper in his ear I loved you too, 'cos then he wouldn't touch me. Dad he says 'tis a damned black devil," he added with candid relish and a sidelong glance of mischief at his employer.
Gillian laughed and gave his shoulder a little pat.
"I'm afraid he is," she admitted ruefully. The boy threw his head back. "I ain't afeard o' he," he said stoutly. "Shall I fetch 'im?"
"I think we'll leave him where he is, Danny," she said gravely, as if in confidence. "He's probably very happy. Now run away and come again on Saturday." She waved a paint-stained rag at him and turned again to the picture. Obediently he started towards the door, then hesitated, glancing irresolutely at Craven, and tip-toed back to the easel.