"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.
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