“It always looks as if it were going to.”
Ruth shuddered.
“It’s a repulsive thing. I hate it. It gives me the creeps. I came in here last night and switched on the light, and there it was, goggling at me.”
“Are you getting nervous?”
Ruth’s face grew grave.
“Do you know, Kirk, I really believe I am. This morning as I was dressing, I suddenly got the most awful feeling that something terrible was going to happen. I don’t know what. It was perfectly vague. I just felt a kind of horror. It passed off in a moment or two; but, while it lasted—ugh!”
“How ghastly! Why didn’t you tell me before? You must be run down. Look here, let’s shut up this place and get out to Florida or somewhere for the winter!”
“Let’s don’t do anything of the kind. Florida indeed! For the love of Mike, as Steve would say, it’s much too expensive. You know, Kirk, we are both frightfully extravagant. I’m sure we are spending too much money as it is. You know you sold out some of your capital only the other day.”
“It was only that once. And you had set your heart on that pendant. Surely to goodness, if I drag you away from a comfortable home to live in a hovel, the least I can do is to—”
“You didn’t drag me. I just walked in and sat down, and you couldn’t think how to get rid of me, so in despair you married me.”
“That was it. And now I’ve got to set to work and make a fortune and—what do you call it?—support you in the style to which you have been accustomed. Which brings us back to the picture. I don’t suppose I shall get ten dollars for it, but I feel I shall curl up and die if I don’t get it finished. Are you absolutely determined about the Vince girl?”
“I’m adamant. I’m granite. I’m chilled steel. Oh! Kirk, can’t you find a nice, motherly old model, with white hair and spectacles? I shouldn’t mind her calling you by your first name.”
“But it’s absurd. I told you just now that an artist doesn’t look on his models as human beings while—”
“I know. I’ve read all about that in books, and I believed it then. Why, when I married you, I said to myself: ‘I mustn’t be foolish. Kirk’s an artist, I mustn’t be a comic-supplement wife and object to his using models!’ Oh, I was going to be so good and reasonable. You would have loved me! And then, when it came to the real thing, I found I just could not stand it. I know it’s silly of me. I know just as well as you do that Miss Vince is quite a nice girl really, and is going to make a splendid Mrs. Travelling Salesman, but that doesn’t help me. It’s my wicked nature, I suppose. I’m just a plain cat, and that’s all there is to it. Look at the way I treat your friends!”
Kirk started.
“You jumped!” said Ruth. “You jerked my head. Do you think I didn’t know you had noticed it? I knew how unhappy you were when Mr. Jardine was here, and I just hated myself.”
“Didn’t you like Hank?” asked Kirk.
Ruth was silent for a moment.
“I wish you would,” Kirk went on. “You don’t know what a real white man old Hank is. You didn’t see him properly that night. He was nervous. But he’s one of the very best God ever made. We’ve known each other all our lives. He and I—”
“Don’t tell me!” cried Ruth. “Don’t you see that that’s just the reason why I can’t like him? Don’t tell me about the things you and he did together, unless you want me to hate him. Don’t you understand, dear? It’s the same with all your friends. I’m jealous of them for having known you before I did. And I hate these models because they come into a part of your life into which I can’t. I want you all to myself. I want to be your whole life. I know it’s idiotic and impossible, but I do.”
“You are my whole life,” said Kirk seriously. “I wasn’t born till I met you. There isn’t a single moment when you are not my whole life.”
She pressed her head contentedly against his arm.
“Kirk.”
“Yes?”
“Let me pose for your picture.”
“What! You couldn’t!”
“Why not?”
“It’s terribly hard work. It’s an awful strain.”
“I’m sure I’m as strong as that Vince girl. You ask Steve; he’s seen me throw the medicine-ball.”
“But posing is different. Hilda Vince has been trained for it.”
“Well let me try, at any rate.”
“But—”
“Do! And I’ll promise to like your Hank and not put on my grand manner when he begins telling me what fun you and he used to have in the good old days before I was born or thought of. May I?”
“But—”
“Quick! Promise!”
“Very well.”
“You dear! I’ll be the best model you ever had. I won’t move a muscle, and I’ll stand there till I drop.”
“You’ll do nothing of the kind. You’ll come right down off that model-throne the instant you feel the least bit tired.”
The picture which Kirk was painting was one of those pictures which thousands of young artists are working on unceasingly every day. Kirk’s ideas about it were in a delightfully vague state. He had a notion that it might turn out in the end as “Carmen.” On the other hand, if anything went wrong and he failed to insert a sufficient amount of wild devilry into it, he could always hedge by calling it A Reverie or The Spanish Maiden.
Possibly, if the thing became too pensive and soulful altogether, he might give it some title suggestive of the absent lover at the bullfight—The Toreador’s Bride—or something of that sort. The only point on which he was solid was that it was to strike the Spanish note; and to this end he gave Ruth a costume of black and orange and posed
