“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.”
“What!” he exclaimed, his face reddening with pleasure at her opinion, and with surprise at her mode of expressing it.
“It’s quite true. That dancing figure is wholly charming. It is no study; it is pure creation.”
He knew it; was a little thrilled that she, representing to him an average and mediocre public, should recognize it so intelligently.
“As though,” she continued, “you had laid aside childish things.”
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