At first a mere impersonal
idea, the thought was instantly, by his habit of mental definiteness,
realized so clearly that his cheek flushed, partly, it is to be said to
his credit, with genuine shame. He looked at the beautiful model, and
turned away his eyes. Then, hardly conscious of what he was doing, he
laid down his palette, and took a step forward.
At that instant the studio bell rang sharply. He started with so
terrible a sense of being discovered in a crime, that his jaw trembled
and his knees almost failed under him.
Then instantly he recovered his self-possession, although his heart was
beating painfully, and looked up at the clock.
"Heavens!" he exclaimed. "I had no idea how late it was! It is that
beastly Irons for his last sitting. I'd forgotten all about him."
Ninitta rose from her position and hurried toward the screen behind
which she dressed.
"Don't let him in," she said. "He knows me."
The bell rang again, as they stood looking at each other.
"I will try to send him off," Arthur said. "Dress as quickly as you
can."
She retreated behind the screen while he went to the door and unlocked
it. Instantly Irons stepped inside.
"You must excuse me," the artist said. "I'll be ready for you in
fifteen minutes. I have a model here, and got to painting so busily
that I forgot the time. Come back in a quarter of an hour.
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