"Well, three o'clock then," I repeated, and ran downstairs.
Viola was waiting in the dining-room, but not at the table. I went over to the window where she was standing, and showed her the sketches.
"Oh, Trevor, how lovely; how perfectly beautiful!" she exclaimed, gazing at the charcoal head.
"You have done that well, and what a glorious face!"
"I'm so glad you like it. Come up this afternoon and see the model, see me work. Say you're out, and let's have tea in the studio."
"Very well," she answered as the luncheon came in; "I'll say we want tea up there. What a good idea to make her a Bacchante; it's the very face for it."
"Suppose I took her as a Bacchante dancing, the whole figure I mean, nude, under a canopy of vine leaves, make all the background, everything, green vines with clusters of purple grapes, and then have her dancing down the sort of avenue towards the foreground, with the light pouring down through the leaves. How do you think that would be?"
"I should think it would be lovely," Viola answered slowly, with a little sigh.
"You would like to be my only model for the body?" I said gently, keeping my eyes on her face.
"No, Trevor, I really don't want to be selfish, and I do think you should have another, only...."
"Well, when a woman is in love she does so long to be able to assume all sorts of different forms, to be different women, so as to always please and amuse and satisfy the man she loves. How delightful it would be if one could change! One can be pretty, one can be amiable, clever, charming, anything, but one cannot be different from oneself; one must be the same, one can't get away from that."
"I don't want you to be different. I should be overwhelmed if you suddenly changed into some one else! And whatever models I have, you will always be the best. There could not be another such perfect figure as yours."
Viola smiled, but an absent look came into her face.
After luncheon we both went up to the studio together, and Viola was ensconced in my armchair when Veronica's knock came on the door.
I said, "Come in," and she entered with the confident air of the morning. Directly she saw Viola, however, she seemed to stiffen with resentment, and stood still by the door.