And, as she made no reply, he looked up amiably, balancing his pencil in
his hand and repeating the question.

"Is it necessary to--tell you?"

"Not at all. One usually asks that question, probably because you models
are always so everlastingly anxious to tell us--particularly when the
men for whom you have posed are more famous than the poor devil who
offers you an engagement."

There was something very good humoured in his smile, and she strove to
smile, too, but her calmness was now all forced, and her heart was
beating very fast, and her black-gloved fingers were closing and
doubling till the hands that rested on the arms of the gilded antique
chair lay tightly clenched.

He was leisurely writing in his note book under her name:

"Height, medium; eyes, a dark brown; hair, thick, lustrous, and brown;
head, unusually beautiful; throat and neck, perfect--"

He stopped writing and lifted his eyes:

"How much of your time is taken ahead, I wonder?"

"What?"

"How many engagements have you? Is your time all cut up--as I fancy it
is?"