“Dance,” said Lewis.

Vi hesitated a moment and then danced, at first a little stiffly.  But her mind gradually concentrated on her movements; she began to catch the impersonal working atmosphere of a model.

“Hold that!” cried Lewis, and, a second later:  “No, that will never do.  You’ve stiffened.  Try again.”

Over and over Vi tried to catch the pose and keep it until, without a word, she crossed the room, threw herself on a couch, and began to cry from pure exhaustion.  When she had partly recovered, she suddenly awoke to the fact that Lewis had not come to comfort her.  She looked up.  Lewis was still sitting on the bench.  He was filling a fresh pipe.

“Blown over?” he asked casually.  “Come on.  At it again.”

At the end of another half-hour Vi gave up the struggle.  She had caught the pose twice, but she had been unable to hold it.

“I give it up,” she wailed.  “I’ll simply never be able to stay that way.”

“If you were a professional dancer,” said Lewis, “I’d say ‘nonsense’ to that.  But you’re not.  I’m afraid it would take you weeks, perhaps months, to get the stamina.  Take it easy now while I make some tea.”

“Tea in the morning!” said Vi.  “I can’t stand it.  I’d rather have a glass of port or something like that.”

“I’ve no doubt you would, but you’re not going to get it,” said Lewis, calmly, as he went about the business of brewing tea.

Vi finished her first cup, and asked for a second.

“It’s quite a bracer, after all,” she said.  “I feel a lot better.”  She rose and went to the model’s throne at one side of the room.  “Is this where they stand?” she asked.

Lewis nodded.

Vi climbed the throne, and took a pose.  Her face was turned from Lewis, her right arm half outstretched, her left at her side.  She was in the act of stepping.  Her long left thigh was salient, yet withdrawing.  It was the pose of one who leads the way.

“This is the pose you will do me in,” she said.

For a moment Lewis was silent, then he said gravely: 

“No, you don’t really want me to do you that way.”

“I do, and you will,” said Vi, without looking around.

For another long moment Lewis was silent.

“All right,” he said at last.  “Come down.  Dress yourself.  You’ve had enough for to-day.”

CHAPTER XXX

Weeks passed.  Lewis worked steadily at his figure of Vi.  From the time the wires had been set and the rough clay slapped on them, he had never allowed her to see the figure.

“It’s no use asking,” he said.  “You’re no master at this art.  The workman who shows unfinished stuff to anybody but a master is a fool.”

“Well, when, then?” asked Vi, impatiently, after weeks had lengthened to months.

“Almost any day now,” said Lewis; but before ‘any day’ came around, something happened that materially delayed the satisfaction of Vi’s curiosity.