She began to cry silently; he saw the drops fall shining on the white
wool robe, and leaned one elbow on the ladder, watching them. After a
while they ceased, but she still held her head low, and her face was
bent in the warm shadow of her hair.

"How could I understand?" he asked very gently.

"I--should have told you. I was afraid."

He said: "I'm terribly sorry. It must have been perfect torture for you
to undress--to come into the studio. If you'd only given me an idea of
how matters stood I could have made it a little easier. I'm afraid I was
brusque--taking it for granted that you were a model and knew your
business.... I'm terribly sorry."

She lifted her head, looked at him, with the tears still clinging to her
lashes.

"You have been very nice to me. It is all my own fault."

He smiled. "Then it's all right, now that we understand. Isn't it?"

"Yes."

"You make a stunning model," he said frankly.

"Do I? Then you will let me come again?"

"_Let_ you!" He laughed; "I'll be more likely to beg you."