“You have been very nice to me.  It is all my own fault.”

He smiled.  “Then it’s all right, now that we understand.  Isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“You make a stunning model,” he said frankly.

“Do I?  Then you will let me come again?”

“Let you!” He laughed; “I’ll be more likely to beg you.”

“Oh, you won’t have to,” she said; “I’ll come as long as you want me.”

“That is simply angelic of you.  Tell me, do you wish to descend to terra firma?”

She glanced below, doubtfully: 

“N-no, thank you.  If I could only stretch my—­legs—­”

“Stretch away,” he said, much amused, “but don’t tumble off and break into pieces.  I like you better as you are than as an antique and limbless Venus.”

She cautiously and daintily extended first one leg then the other under the wool robe, then eased the cramped muscles of her back, straightening her body and flexing her arms with a little sigh of relief.  As her shy sidelong gaze reverted to him she saw to her relief that he was not noticing her.  A slight sense of warmth, suffused her body, and she stretched herself again, more confidently, and ventured to glance around.

“Speaking of terms,” he said in an absent way, apparently preoccupied with the palette which he was carefully scraping, “do you happen to know what is the usual recompense for a model’s service?”

She said that she had heard, and added with quick diffidence that she could not expect so much, being only a beginner.

He polished the surface of the palette with a handful of cheese cloth: 

“Don’t you think that you are worth it?”

“How can I be until I know how to pose for you?”

“You will never have to learn how to pose, Miss West.”

“I don’t know exactly what you mean.”

“I mean that some models never learn.  Some know how already—­you, for example.”

She flushed slightly:  “Do you really mean that?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say so if I didn’t.  It’s merely necessary for you to accustom yourself to holding a pose; the rest you already know instinctively.”

“What is the rest?” she ventured to ask.  “I don’t quite understand what you see in me—­”

“Well,” he said placidly, “you are beautifully made.  That is nine-tenths of the matter.  Your head is set logically on your neck, and your neck is correctly placed on your spine, and your legs and arms are properly attached to your torso—­your entire body, anatomically speaking, is hinged, hung, supported, developed as the ideal body should be.  It’s undeformed, unmarred, unspoiled, and that’s partly luck, partly inheritance, and mostly decent habits and digestion.”

She was listening intently, interested, surprised, her pink lips slightly parted.

“Another point,” he continued; “you seem unable to move or rest ungracefully.  Few women are so built that an ungraceful motion is impossible for them.  You are one of the few.  It’s all a matter of anatomy.”