I didn't say that I _felt_ like a table or chair." "Oh!" "Don't look down; keep the pose, please," came somewhat sharply from the man at the easel, as though he were mentally taking himself in hand.
After that, she watched him with increasing interest and, when he turned his head in that listening attitude, a curious, resentful light came into her eyes.
Presently, she asked abruptly, "What is it that you hear ?" "I thought I heard music," he answered, coloring slightly and turning to his work with suddenly absorbing interest.
"The violin that so enchanted you when I came to break the spell ?" she persisted playfully--though the light in her eyes was not a playful light.
"Yes," he answered shortly; stepping back and shading his eyes with his hand for a careful look at his canvas.
"And don't you know who it is ?" "You said it was an old professor somebody." "That was my _first_ guess," she retorted.

"Was I right ?" "I don't know." "But it comes from that little box of a house, next door, doesn't it ?" "Evidently," the artist answered.

Then, laying aside his palette and brushes he said abruptly, "That is all for to-day; thank you." "Oh, so soon!" she exclaimed; and the regret in her voice was very pleasing to the man who was decidedly not a mechanical something.
She started eagerly forward toward the easel.

But the artist, with a quick motion, drew a curtain across the canvas, to hide his work; while he checked her with--"Not yet, please.

I don't want you to see it until I say you may." "How mean of you," she protested; charmingly submissive.