"They haven't begged very hard," she laughed. "If they had, perhaps they might be playing Darby and Joan, too. I've never tried it before. But I think it's rather nice----" She broke off suddenly. "Do you know, I've rested _quite_ twenty minutes," she said after a moment. "Come, time is precious." "That depends----" She waited a moment for him to finish, but he said no more. "How extraordinary!" she said with a pretty _mouë_. "I don't know whether I should be pleased or not." "Can you blame me? The Forelock of Time hangs too temptingly," he laughed. "Of course, if you'd rather pose----" He took up his dripping brushes with a sigh. "Oh, indeed, I don't care," she sank back in the chair. "Only don't you think--isn't that really what I'm here for?" "It is time to pose, Miss Darrow," he said determinately. But she made no move to get into the position. "I haven't complained," and she smiled at him. "Your muse is difficult, and I'm the gainer. Really, I think I'd rather talk." "And I'm waiting to go on with the portrait." "I'll pose again on one condition----" "Yes." "That you put on overalls." The brushes and palette dropped to his side. "That's rough on Slovenly Peter," he laughed. He set about squeezing the paint tubes, wiping the brush handles and edge of the palette. When the pose was over Julie appeared. The artist drew the grey drapery over the easel and helped Miss Darrow to descend. CHAPTER XIV These mornings in the studio were full of subtleties. Miss Darrow discovered that Burnett could talk upon many subjects. He had traveled much in Europe, and could even draw a bold outline for her of the East, which she had never seen. He talked little of art, and then only when the subject was introduced by his model. In the rests, which were long, he led Miss Darrow, often without her being aware of it, down pleasant lanes of thought, all of which seemed to end abruptly in the garish sunshine of personality. She did not find it unpleasant; only it seemed rather surprising the way all formality between them had been banished. One morning there was a diversion. A clatter on the knocker and Burnett, frowning, went to the door. Miss Darrow heard a feminine voice and an exclamation. Burnett went rather hurriedly and stood outside, his hand upon the door knob. There was a murmur of conversation and a feminine laugh. She tried not to hear what was said. The hand fidgeted on the knob, but the murmur of voices continued. Miss Darrow got down from the throne and moved to the window, adjusting a stray curl as she passed. She looked away from the mirror, then stopped suddenly and looked again. When Burnett entered she was sitting in the window-seat, looking out over the roof-tops. He was profuse in apology. She resumed the pose and the artist painted silently. "They say there's a pleasure in painting that only a painter knows," she began. "Of course."