She had remained, however, untouched; curious and amused, perhaps,
yet quite satisfied, so far, to be amused; and entirely content with
her own curiosity.

She coquetted when she thought it safe; learned many things she had
not suspected; was more cautious afterwards, but still, at
intervals, ventured to use her attractiveness as a natural lure, as
an excuse, as a reason, as a weapon, when the probable consequences
threatened no embarrassment or unpleasantness for her.

She was much liked, much admired, much attempted, and entirely
untempted.

When the Make-up Club gave its annual play depicting the foibles of
artists and writers in the public eye, Cecile White was always cast
for a role which included singing and dancing.

On and off for the last year or two she had posed for Drene, had
dropped into his studio to lounge about when he had no need of her
professionally, and when she had half an hour of idleness
confronting her.

As she stood there now on the model stand, gazing dreamily from his
busy hands to his lean, intent features, it occurred to her that
this day had not been a sample of their usual humdrum relations.
From the very beginning of their business relations he had remained
merely her employer, self-centered, darkly absorbed in his work, or,
when not working, bored and often yawning. She had never come to
know him any better than when she first laid eyes on him.