"He is very clever," said her father, "and when he chooses he can talk very well. He proved that this morning. To me, personally, he is most repugnant, but I admit that when he once launched out, I listened as a school-boy listens to stories of treasure and pirates. He's lived and observed and suffered. There is no doubt about that. But I shall be greatly relieved to hear that your bust is finished. I don't like the idea of such a man being in the same block with you. I hope that you will not feel inspired to do another head of him." "He's a splendid model," said Barbara. "Of course this morning he didn't keep still--and he did talk. But then I wasn't really working; When I wish he keeps almost as still as the clay I work with." "Doesn't looking at him ever give you--oh, a disagreeable creepy feeling?" "Not any more. I'm so used to him now. No, I feel a genuine friendliness for him," "I thought," said her father, "that to you artists, models were absolutely impersonal--just planes and angles and--what was it you used to say?" Barbara flushed slightly, remembering a former and very disagreeable conversation. "Your memory is much too good," she said. Dr. Ferris frowned, "I'm not trying to interfere," he said; "you're old enough to know what's best for you, but if I could instil in you a proper distaste for your friend, Mr. Blizzard, I should be delighted. Beauty and the beast do _not_ go well together." "_Please"_ said Barbara, "don't bother your head about me. When the bust is finished, you and I go abroad for to look, for to see, for to learn. That's agreed. We shall not invite Mr. Blizzard to go with us, and all will be well. There's my hand on it!" She laughed rosily, and they shook hands. "Until recently," said Dr. Ferris, "I have taken, as you know, very little interest in your career as a sculptor. Haven't you thought that rather an unnatural attitude?" "Why, yes," said Barbara, "I have." She took a box of safety matches from a cigar-table, and kneeling, lighted the fire in the big chimney-piece. "I hope you don't mind," she said; "I'm shivery." She knelt on, watching the little flames grow into big flames, and spreading her hands to the warmth. Her face, arms, throat, and the front of her white dress became golden. She looked more like some lovely vestal of fire-worship than an ambitious American girl, determined to achieve fame in the battleground of the world. "Why, yes," she repeated, "it has seemed strange to me. When I've thought that I wanted to do things, you always took a lot of interest and trouble, but when I _knew_ that I wanted to do one thing, you gave me a dreadfully cold shoulder." She smiled whimsically. "I shall do an allegory in bluish-white marble--The Cold Shoulder." She retreated a little from the fire, and sat at her father's feet. He laid his hand on her many-colored hair.