True, a large screen kept both artist and sitter apart from the rest of the studio, but Arthur Kirtland liked to be wholly alone, and undisturbed while painting a portrait, and he was very glad when the children tired of the pictures in the large studio, and went out into the small room.

“He didn’t look like what you guessed, did he?” said Rose, when together they seated themselves in the little room.

“No, not a bit, and the reason you could guess what he was like was because you’d seen him,” said Polly, “and when he made the funny little bow just as you did, I almost laughed.”

“I don’t wonder he struts when he walks.  Just think who he’s painted!  Two dukes, one is that man with the red hair, and the eyes that laugh at you.  It’s out in the big room,” said Rose, “don’t you remember it?”

“Yes, but I like the big lady in velvet, and lace, that hangs next to him,” said Polly.

“That’s his wife, Mr. Kirtland said so,” said Rose.

“Oh, would you think a lovely lady like that would marry a man with red hair?” said Polly.

“P’raps she liked red hair,” Rose said, “and Polly, did you ever see anything so cunning as that picture of a little girl with her hands full of roses?”

Polly thought the picture charming, and together they walked around the little room enjoying flower studies, sketches, and finished pictures of children, until Polly espied a small door.

“Oh, see that funny little door!” she whispered, “where does that lead to?  Is it a closet door, do you suppose?”

“Oh, no, that’s not a closet,” Rose replied, “I’ve often seen it open.  Just outside it is a wee little garden just big enough to hold some fine holly-hocks.  I’ll show you.  ’Most always the door is open.”

“Open it softly.  He wouldn’t like it if we made a noise,” whispered Polly.

Rose turned the latch very gently, and opened the door a few inches.  A flood of golden sunlight swept in, and just outside the tall holly-hocks in gorgeous coloring swayed in the soft breeze.

“Hear them rustle just as if they were paper flowers,” whispered Polly.  “Oh, it’s lovely out there.”

“Let’s go out just a little way.”

“All right,” agreed Rose, “come out, and I’ll shut the door,” and Polly followed her out into the sunlight.

“Oh, you didn’t latch the door,” said Polly.

“Oh, dear!  I meant to,” said Rose, “but it isn’t much open.  If I go back, and pull it real hard to make it latch it’ll make a noise, and Mr. Kirtland won’t like it.  We won’t stay out long, so it doesn’t matter.”

“When we do go back, let’s sit on that little sofa in the corner.  That’s a cosy place.”

“All right,” agreed Rose, and together they walked up and down the little path that led from the tiny, side door to the street.

“The studio is grand, and the people he’s painted look as if they could speak, if they chose,” said Polly, “but somehow it made me feel queer to see them all looking at me.”