I walked about the room, quickly collecting my evening things and thinking.  Why did I, now that I had left Veronica, feel self-reproach and regret at what had passed?  What was a kiss?  It was ridiculous to think of it twice.

I ran downstairs and found Viola as I had expected in the drawing-room.  In her white dinner-gown and with a few violet pansies at her breast, she looked, I thought, particularly charming.  She smiled as I came in, but when I approached to kiss her as was usual between us after the shortest absences, she got up, almost started up and moved away from me.

“Don’t kiss me!  I am so afraid you will crush my flowers.”

I stopped disconcerted; she coloured slightly and took a chair further from me, I flung myself into one close to me.

It was so unlike Viola to resist any advance of mine, and on such a score, that it astonished me.  Often and often I had hesitated when she had been in some of her magnificent toilettes to clasp her to me for fear of disturbing the wonderful creations, and had been laughingly derided for so doing.

“Your kiss is worth a dozen dresses,” she would say, and crush me to her in spite of whatever laces or jewels might lie between; and such words had been very dear to me.

This phrase now, usual with many women, unheard before from her, struck me.  The blood rushed to my head for a moment as the thought came—­she have seen or heard in any possible way the scene in the studio? and then I dismissed it as quite impossible.  It was coincidence, merely that.  She could know nothing.  Then, staring away from her into the little fire, I thought suddenly—­“Is not this the most despicable, the worst part of all infidelity, this deceit it must bring with it?  The lies, either spoken or tacit, to which it gives birth?”

There were only a few moments and then the bell called us to dinner.

Viola was just as sweet and charming as usual through the meal and after, both during the theatre party to which we went, and when we were driving home together.

The next morning when we were at breakfast alone she said in a very earnest tone: 

“Trevor, you will be careful about that model of yours, won’t you?”

I raised my eyebrows.

“How do you mean?”

“Don’t let her draw you into anything you don’t really want to do.  Be a little on your guard with her.  You know how detestable some women can be.  They try to make men compromise themselves, and then worry them afterwards.”

“I should think I ought to be able to take care of myself,” I replied.  Of course I was annoyed, and showed it.

“Well,” said Viola, getting up from the table, “it is difficult when a girl is as beautiful as that and you are shut up for hours alone with her.  When do you think the picture will be finished?”

“I don’t know at all,” I said, feeling more and more annoyed.  “I shall probably keep her on for another after it.”