She laughed, such a pretty dainty laugh!  What a contrast to the rough giggles amongst the models this morning!

“Trevor! you are just the same as ever; all compliments.  But I am immensely glad you are not going to turn me out, for I am chilly and tired and want my tea and a talk with you very badly.”  And she settled down in her large chair with a sigh of content.

I came back to the hearth and stood looking down upon her.  The light was rose-coloured, falling through tinted globes, and soft as the firelight.  She looked exquisite, and she must have seen the admiration in my eyes for she coloured under them.

She was wearing a dark green velvet gown edged fur and which fitted her lovely figure closely, being perhaps designed to display it.

“You have come like a glorious sunset to a gloomy day,” I said.  “I have had a horrid morning and been depressed all the afternoon.”

“You have no inspiration, then, yet for the Phryne?” she answered, glancing round; “otherwise you would be in the seventh heaven.”

“No,” I groaned, “and the models are so dreadful; so far from giving one an inspiration, they would kill any one had.  All last week I was trying to find a model, and all this morning again.  I would give anything for a good one.”

She murmured a sympathetic assent, and I went on, pursuing my own thoughts freely, for Viola was my cousin and no one else knew or understood me so well as she did.  We had grown up together, and always talked on all sorts of subjects to each other.

“The difficulty is with most of these English models, they are so thick and heavy, so cart-horsey, or else they are so thin.  The tall, graceful ones are too thin, I want those subtle, gracious lines, but I don’t want sharp bones and corners.  I want smooth, rounded contours, and yet the outlines to be delicate; I want slender grace and suppleness with roundness....”

I stopped suddenly, the blood mounting to my forehead.  I was looking down at her as she lay back in the chair.  She looked at me, and our gaze got locked together.  A thought had sprung suddenly between us.  I realised all at once I was describing the figure before me, realised that I was face to face with the most perfect, enchanting model of my dearest dreams.

There was a swift rush of red to her face, too, as I stopped.  Up till then she had been quietly listening.  But she saw my thought then.  It was visible to both of us and for a moment a deadly silence dropped on us.  Of course, I ought not to have stopped, but the thought came to me with such a blinding flash of sudden revelation that it paralysed me and took speech from my lips.  Just in that moment the door opened and tea was brought in.  I turned my attention immediately to making it, and what with asking her how much sugar she would have and pressing her to take hot toast and crumpets, the cloud of embarrassment passed and all was light and easy again.  I dismissed the idea instantly, and we did not speak of the picture.  I questioned her about her shopping, we recalled the last night’s dance where we had been together, and spoke of a hundred other light matters in which we had common interests.  Then a silence stole over us, and Viola sank far back in her chair, gazing with absent eyes into the fire.