Taine saw him glance quickly over his shoulder, as though expecting some
one. Once, for quite a moment, he deliberately turned from his easel to
stand at the window, looking up at the distant mountain peaks. Several
times, he seemed to be listening.

"May I talk?" she said at last.

"Why, certainly," he returned. "I want you to feel perfectly at ease. You
must be altogether at home here. Just let yourself go--say what you like,
with no conventional restraints whatever--consider me a mechanical
something that is no more than an article of furniture--be as thoroughly
yourself as if alone in your own room."

"How funny," she said musingly.

"Not at all"--he returned--"just a matter of business."

"But it _would_ be funny if I were to take you at your word," she replied;
suddenly breaking the pose and meeting his gaze squarely. "Is it--is it
quite necessary for the mechanical something to look at me like that?"

"I said that you were to _consider_ me as an article of furniture. I
didn't say that I _felt_ like a table or chair."

"Oh!"

"Don't look down; keep the pose, please," came somewhat sharply from the
man at the easel, as though he were mentally taking himself in hand.

After that, she watched him with increasing interest and, when he turned