and she used to annoy us awfully getting to the flat so early in the
morning and cleaning our living room while we were trying to sleep.
But she was a crack-a-jack worker, so we put up with her superfluous
energy in cleaning. Then one day I discovered her standing with
a letter in her hand looking off into space with her eyes full of
misery. She had heard of some relative."

"Of course you wanted to paint her," I suggested.

"You bet," Dicky returned. "The idea came to me in a flash. You
can see what a heroic figure she was. I had her get into her Polish
dress--she had brought one with her from the old country--and I
painted her as Poland--miserable, unhappy Poland. Gee! but I'm glad
you happened to run across her. We'll put up with anything from her
until I get that picture done."

Try as I might I could not share Dicky's enthusiasm. I knew it was
petty, but the idea of my maid acting as Dicky's model jarred my ideas
of the fitness of things.

But I had sense enough to hold my peace.




VII

A FRIENDLY WARNING