Her work was not only profitable financially, but it developed new
tastes and tendencies. Every day there was the new word eagerly grasped
and faithfully remembered. "Fer," "set," "spile," "orter," and the like
were gradually entirely eliminated from her vocabulary. Unconsciously
she acquired "atmosphere" from her environment. In her spare moments
Amarilly read aloud to Derry, while he painted, he choosing the book at
random from his library.

"I want to use you for a model this afternoon," he remarked one day as
she was about to depart. "Braid your hair just as tight as you can, the
way you had it the first day you came. Put on your high-necked, long-
sleeved apron, and get it wet and soapy as it was that first day, and
then come back to the studio with your scrubbing brush and pail."

Amarilly did as she was bidden with a reluctance which the artist,
absorbed in his preparations for work, did not notice.

"Yes; that's fine," he said, glancing up as she came to him. "Now get
down here on your knees by the--what kind of boards did you call them,
Amarilly? Mopboards? Yes, that was it. Now try and put your whole mind
on the memory of the horror you felt at the accumulation of dirt on that
first day, and begin to scrub. Turn your head slightly toward me, tilted
just a little--so--There, that's fine! Keep that position just as long
and just as well as you possibly can."

Derry began to paint, mechanically at first, and then as he warmed to
his subject and became interested in his conception, with rapidity and
absorption.