"N-not exactly. But I suppose you mean that you are self-confident."

"Lord! Listen to this girl say in a dozen words what I'm trying to say
in a volume so that it won't scare me! Yes! That's it. I am confident.
And it's that self-confidence which sometimes scares me half to death."

From his ladder he pointed with his brush to the preliminary sketch
that faced her, touching figure after figure:

"I'm going to draw them in, now," he said; "first this one. Can you
catch the pose? It's going to be hard; I'll block up your heels, later;
that's it! Stand up straight, stretch as though the next moment you were
going to rise on tiptoe and float upward without an effort--"

He was working like lightning in long, beautiful, clean outline strokes,
brushed here and there with shadow shapes and masses. And time flew at
first, then went slowly, more slowly, until it dragged at her delicate
body and set every nerve aching.

"I--may I rest a moment?"

"Sure thing!" he said, cordially, laying aside palette and brushes.
"Come on, Miss West, and we'll have luncheon."

She hastily swathed herself in the wool robe.

"Do you mean--here?"

"Yes. There's a dumb-waiter. I'll ring for the card."