A certain note in her voice made him laugh. “You don’t care in the least about the picture--do you?”
“Yes, indeed,” protested she. But the attempt to conceal his having hit upon the truth was far from successful. She realized it herself. “I care only about the pay,” confessed she.
She protested. “No, that isn’t honest. I gave you my whole attention. You must pay in the same way. You must do your best to amuse me.”
He obeyed. “You deserve better pay,” said he. “I never had a professional model who behaved so well.”
“Do you know, I never did anything so obediently in my whole life,” declared she. “I don’t understand myself.” There was seriousness behind the mirth in the glance she flung at him. “I’m a little afraid of you. I half believe you hypnotize me. You--seem to--to put to sleep my ordinary, every-day self and to wake up one that’s usually asleep--one I’ve only known--until--until recently--as a--a sort of troublesome ghost that haunts me from time to time.”
He, thinking of his picture, was only half attending to her. “But you’ll marry the man with the money, all right,” said he absently.
She startled. “How did you know?” she demanded. “Have you found out who I am?”
“Certainly. You’re Rix, model to Chang.... No, I was joking. I know only what you told me yesterday--or, rather, what you enabled me to guess.”
“And you approve of my marrying--that way?”
“I’d hardly be guilty of the impertinence of either approving or disapproving.”
“Frankness wouldn’t be impertinence--between you and me. At least, that’s the way I feel about it. Do you really approve of--of marriage for--for other reasons than love?”
A long silence. Then she, with an effort: “When I got back home night before last all that happened up there seemed unreal--absolutely unreal--like a dream.”
Her tone made his wandering attention concentrate, made him glance swiftly at her.
She smiled. “Don’t be alarmed,” said she. “There’s not the slightest cause.”
“Sure?” inquired he jestingly. “You see, I’m not used to young girls--American girls. You talk so freely. If I weren’t an American I’d misunderstand.”
“What would it matter if you did?” retorted she.
“To be sure--it wouldn’t matter at all,” he admitted. “Do go on.”
“If it weren’t that my knowing you--this way--would always seem unreal--not at all a part of life--I’d not dare come. Now, don’t misunderstand. That doesn’t mean I’m falling in love with you--at least, I don’t think it does.” Dreamily--“No, I don’t think so.”