"I think it's a triumph," I answered. "You have caught a most
startling look of concentration."
"I am so glad!" she said, lightly.
The strain was over, and she was descending into ordinary mundane
life again, but the hand she had put on my arm chilled through the
shirt sleeve like ice.
"Do you recognise yourself?"
"Ye--es," I said, slowly; "except for that very glorified nose
you've given me!"
She laughed, and moved the paper off the easel.
"Now I just want to give you an idea of how the tamarisk will be
swayed," she said, holding a crayon between her tiny white teeth,
and motioning me to a couch under the window. "Sit down there and
wait a minute. I'll just sketch them roughly for you to get an
approximation."
I sat down on the couch facing her, and occupied myself by replacing
my collar, etc. The studio was fireless and uncommonly chilly. Then
I leaned back and studied the girl as she sat there, one little foot
crossed over the other, and a piece of mill-board supported on her
raised knee. The tamarisk seemed to call for little expense of the
divine energy, for she was as tranquil, smiling, and human as usual,
now, as she sketched the bushes. They were far more mechanical work,
naturally, than creating an expression and throwing it on a human
face. The light from the window behind me fell full upon her, and
seemed positively to brighten in her proximity.
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