He was rather floored by her productions.  As far as he could judge from what she showed him, she was hopelessly without talent, and he could only wonder which of these remarkably bad studies had won for her the Lynxville Sumner Prize Fund.

He tried to give her some advice, and was thanked when she put her things away.

Then they all looked at his sketch, which Miss Snell pronounced “too charming,” and Cora plainly thought did not do her justice.

“I wish you would pose a few times for me, Miss Price,” he said, before leaving.  “I should like very much to paint you, and it would be doing me a great favor.”

The girl did not respond to this request with any eagerness.  He fancied he could see she was feeling huffy again at his meagre praise of her work.

Miss Snell, however, did not allow her to answer, but rapturously promised that Cora should sit as often as he liked, and paid no attention to the girl’s protest that she had no time to spare.

“This has been simply in-spiring!” said Miss Snell, as she bade him good-bye, and he left very enthusiastic about Cora’s profile, and with his hand covered with paint from Miss Snell’s door-knob.

* * * * *

In spite of Miss Snell’s assurance that Cora would pose, the Painter was convinced that she would not, if a suitable excuse could be invented.  Feeling this, he wrote her a most civil note about it.  The answer came promptly, and did not surprise him.

She was very sorry indeed, but she had no leisure hours at her disposal, and although she felt honored, she really could not do it.  This was written on flimsy paper, in a big unformed handwriting, and it caused him to betake himself once more to Miss Snell’s studio, where he found her alone—­Cora was at Julian’s.

She promised to beg Cora to pose, and accepted an invitation for them to breakfast with him in his studio on the following Sunday morning.

He carefully explained to her that his whole winter’s work depended upon Cora’s posing for him.  He half meant it, having been seized with the notion that her type was what he needed to realize a cherished ideal, and he told this to Miss Snell, and enlarged upon it until he left her rooted in the conviction that he was hopelessly in love with Cora—­a fact she imparted to that young woman on her return from Julian’s.

Cora listened very placidly, and expressed no astonishment.  He was not the first by any means; other people had been in love with her in Lynxville, Massachusetts, and she confided the details of several of these love-affairs to Miss Snell’s sympathetic ears during the evening.

Meanwhile, the Painter did nothing, and a fresh canvas stood on his easel when the girls arrived for breakfast on Sunday morning.  The big unfinished painting was turned to the wall; he had lost all interest in it.

“When I fancy doing a thing I am good for nothing else,” he explained to Cora, after she had promised him a few sittings.  “So you are really saving me from idleness by posing.”