"You’d do it"—he held up the sketch—"dressed like that?" She remembered his own phrase, "If I’m to be that kind of a model I must _be_ that kind of a model—and do what’s expected." The process of starving out being so far successful, Wray felt it well to push it a little more. He rose with an air of distress. "I wish you could have told me this last week, Jennie. As it is—" "You’ve got some one else?" "Not definitely. I’ve tried out three—two of them no good, though the third might—" "Might do as well as me?" "Perhaps better in some ways. I mean," he added hastily, as she seemed about to go, "that she’s a real professional model, and for this kind of job, of course, a professional would be—let us say, more at her ease." So many good things had, during the past few days, swum into Jennie’s vision, only to swim out again, that she had grown almost used to this fading of her hopes. Nevertheless, the bliss of loving Hubert and getting twenty-five thousand dollars for it had seemed tolerably sure. To lose it now would be hard; but harder still, for the moment, at least, was this tone of detachment, of indifference. That another woman should, in some ways, do better than herself was worse than the last indignity. Her lip trembled. She was about to turn away with that collapse of the figure which marks the woman who has lost all hope. He hurried up to her, laying his hand on her arm in a way that made a thrill run through her frame. "Wait a minute, Jennie! I’d like to talk it over. If you want me to try you out—" "What does that mean—try me out?" "Oh, simply that you’d take the pose, so that I could see how nearly you’d come up to what I want." "And then if I didn’t—" He smiled. "Oh, but you will—at least I think so." "When would you do it?" "Oh, right now. As soon as you like. I’ve got the time." She looked at him inquiringly, but there was nothing in his eyes to answer the question she was asking. "Oh, very well," she said, dully, and once more turned toward the little door. She had taken a step or two when he said, suddenly, "Jennie, what made you come back?" She paused, turned again, and pulled herself together. It was necessary to take the old bantering tone. After all, she could fence in her way as well as anybody else. "Oh, I don’t know," she threw off carelessly. "I thought I might as well." "Might as well what?" "Oh, go in for the whole thing. As you say yourself, if you’re to be that kind of a model—" "And was that all?" "’All?’ It was a good deal, I should say." "It was a good deal, yes—but I asked if it was all." "Well, ask away, my boy. I don’t have to answer you or go to jail, now do I?"