"Sure, I dunnaw 'bout the picksher, Mister Jan."

"Well, you would be doing me a great service. I want to paint you very much
and I think you will be kind."

He looked into her eyes with a steady, inquiring glance, and Joan
experienced a new emotion. Joe had never looked like that; nor yet her
father. She felt a will stronger than her own was busy with her
inclinations. Volition remained free, and yet she doubted whether under any
circumstances could she refuse his petition. As it happened, however, she
already liked the man. He was so respectful and polite. Moreover, she felt
sad to hear that he suffered in health. He would not ask her to do wrong
and she felt certain that she might trust him. A trembling wish and a
longing to comply with his request already mastered her mind.

"You'm sure--gospel truth--theer ed'n no harm in it?"

"Trust me."

In five minutes he had posed her as he wished and was drawing, while every
word he spoke put Joan more at her ease. The spice of adventure and secrecy
fired her and she felt the spirit of romance in her blood, though she knew
no name for it. Here was a secret delight knocking at the gray threshold of
every-day life--an adventure which might last for many days.

Barron, to touch the woman in her if he could, harped upon her gown and the
color of it, on her shoes and sun-bonnet--on everything but herself.
Presently he reaped his reward.

"Ban't you gwaine to paint my faace as well, Mister Jan."