"I don't think Drene is particularly interested in philosophy. I'm
sure I'm not. Shut up, please."

Drene, gravely annoyed, continued to pinch bits of modeling wax out
of a round tin box, and to stick them all over the sketch he was
modifying.

Now and then he gave a twirl to the top of his working table, which
revolved with a rusty squeak.

"If you two unusually intelligent gentlemen ask me what good a woman
the world--" began Quair.

"But we don't," interrupted Guilder, in the temperate voice peculiar
to his negative character.

"Anyway," insisted Quair, "here's what I think of 'em--"

"My model, yonder," said Drene, a slight shrug of contempt, "happens
to be feminine, and may also be human. Be decent enough to defer the
development of your rather tiresome theory."

The girl on the model-stand laughed outright at the rebuke,
stretched her limbs and body, and relaxed, launching a questioning
glance at Drene.

"All right; rest a bit," said the sculptor, smearing the bit of wax
he was pinching over the sketch before him.