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She might even perhaps imagine that the girl's relations had traced her, found the dead body, and removed it for burial while she, the kidnapper, was asleep. After a while the expression of terror on the model's face began to relax, and she soon awoke into that strange condition which had caused Wilderspin to declare that she had been sent from another world.
Then a match was struck, while she held the straw hat to shelter the flame; and kneeling there, with the model's keel buried deep in the sand, the Skipper lit the lamp, but not without scorching the foresail a little. The next minute the "Flash" was launched, but remained aground in the shallow water.
Mademoiselle de Corandeuil greeted the Vicomte's words indulgently; for, from consummate pride, she separated herself from other women. "So then," said she, "you pretend that if to-day love is painted under false and vulgar colors, the fault is the model's, not the artist's."
For another ten minutes he watched her in silence, free to look as he would, for her back was toward him and in his position before the fire he was beyond the range of the little model's inquisitive black eyes. Then she laid palette and brushes on a near table and stepped back, frowning at what she had done until a smile came slowly to chase the creases from her forehead.
To this labour of love, day after day, he returns with unabated zest, altering, improving, painting out, adding, taking away, drinking in the while his model's beauty, as parched and thirsty gardens of Egypt drink in the overflowing Nile, to return a tenfold harvest of verdure, luxuriance, and wealth. She has been sitting to him for three consecutive hours.
The Sunday after the Model's arrival, that lady had an attack of headache, and was obliged to shut herself up in a darkened room alone. Our two young friends took the opportunity to go together to the Church of the Galileans. They said but little going, "collecting their thoughts" for the service, I devoutly hope.
Certain things which you say seem to me as though they had come from her. You have the same mouth, like an antique model's. Is it that that gives this resemblance to your words? I have no idea, but most certainly you are like each other. You shall see."
A child admitted her into the bleak passage that served for hall. The strange medley of emotions passing through Bianca's breast while she stood outside the girl's door did not show in her face, which wore its customary restrained, half-mocking look. The little model's voice faintly said: "Come in." The room was in disorder, as though soon to be deserted.
I shan't mind, now I'm coming here again." "Only for the present," was all Hilary could find to say. The little model's eyes were lowered. "Mrs. Hughs' baby's to be buried to-morrow," she said suddenly. "Where?" "In Brompton Cemetery. Mr. Creed's going." "What time is the funeral?" The girl looked up stealthily. "Mr. Creed's going to start at half-past nine."
"For God's sake," answered Hilary, "a small one no feathers." "Oh!" "Can you attend to me a minute? Have either Hughs or Mrs. Hughs spoken to you about coming to my house, about me?" The little model's face remained impassive, but by the movement of her fingers Hilary saw that she was attending now. "I don't care what they say." Hilary looked away; an angry flush slowly mounted in his face.
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