sharpen a pencil. As yet he had scarcely glanced at her, and now, while
he leisurely shaved the cedar and scraped the lead to a point, he
absent-mindedly and good-humouredly admonished her:

"You models have your own guild, your club, your regular routine, and
it would make it much easier for us if you'd all register and quietly
wait until we send for you.

[Illustration: "There was a long, brisk, decisive ring at the door."]

"You see we painters know what we want and we know where to apply for
it. But if you all go wandering over studio buildings in search of
engagements, we won't have any leisure to employ you because it will
take all our time to answer the bell. And it will end by our not
answering it at all. And that's why it is fit and proper for good little
models to remain _chez eux_."

He had achieved a point to his pencil. Now he opened his model book,
looked up at her with his absent smile, and remained looking.

"Aren't you going to remove your veil?"

"Oh--I beg your pardon!" Slender gloved fingers flew up, were nervously
busy a moment. She removed her veil and sat as though awaiting his
comment. None came.

After a moment's pause she said: "Did you wish--my name and address?"

He nodded, still looking intently at her.