Without a word, Barbara stepped eagerly forward to the rough model that
she had made of his head, and once more attacked her inspiration with
eager hands. The beggar held himself motionless like a thing of stone,
only his eyes roved a little, drinking in, you may say, that white
loveliness which was Barbara at such moments as her own eyes were upon
her work, and turning swiftly away when she lifted them in scrutiny of
him. Now and then she made measurements of him with a pair of compasses.
At such times it seemed to him that her nearness was more than his
unschooled passions could bear with any appearance of apathy. Though a
child of the nineteenth century, he had been enabled for many years to
give way, almost whenever he pleased, to the instincts of primitive man,
which, except for the greater frequency of their occurrence, differ in
no essential way from the instincts of wild beasts.

Had she been a girl of the East Side he would not have hesitated upon
the present occasion or in the present surroundings. But she was a girl
of wealth and high position. It was not enough that his hands could
stifle an outcry, or that the policeman upon the nearest beat was more
in his own employ than in that of the city. Cold reason showed him that
in the present case impunity was for once doubtful.

Her hands dropped from their work to her sides.

"How goes it?" asked the beggar.

"If it goes as it's gone," she said--"if it only does!"

"It _will_," said the beggar, and there was a strong vibration of faith
and encouragement in his voice. "May I look?"