The little model's voice sounded behind him, matter-of-fact as ever: "He
said I was just the figure he was looking for."

Hilary continued to stare through the window. "I thought you didn't mean
to begin standing for the nude."

"I don't want to stay poor always."

Hilary turned round at the strange tone of these unexpected words.

The girl was in a streak of sunlight; her pale cheeks flushed; her pale,
half-opened lips red; her eyes, in their setting of short black lashes,
wide and mutinous; her young round bosom heaving as if she had been
running.

"I don't want to go on copying books all my life."

"Oh, very well."

"Mr. Dallison! I didn't mean that--I didn't really! I want to do what
you tell me to do--I do!"

Hilary stood contemplating her with the dubious, critical look, as
though asking: "What is there behind you? Are you really a genuine
edition, or what?" which had so disconcerted her before. At last he
said: "You must do just as you like. I never advise anybody."

"But you don't want me to--I know you don't. Of course, if you don't
want me to, then it'll be a pleasure not to!"