For God's sake don't make a god of me." She sat down on the head of the sofa, looking straight at him, pretty head lowered a trifle so that her gaze was accented by the lovely level of her brows: "I've long wanted to have a thorough talk with you," she said.

"Have you got time now ?" He hesitated, controlling his secret amusement under an anxious gravity as he consulted the clock.
"Suppose you give me an hour on those figures up there?
The light will be too poor to work by in another hour.

Then we'll have tea and 'thorough talks.'" "All right," she said, calmly.
He picked up palette and mahl-stick and mounted to his perch on the scaffolding; she walked slowly into the farther room, stood motionless a moment, then raising both arms she began to unhook the collar of her gown.
When she was ready she stepped into her sandals, threw the white wool robe over her body, and tossed one end across her bare shoulder.
He descended, aided her aloft to her own eyrie, walked across the planking to his own, and resumed palette and brushes in excellent humour with himself, talking gaily while he was working: "I'm devoured by curiosity to know what that 'thorough talk' of yours is going to be about.

You and I, in our briefly connected careers, have discussed every subject on earth, gravely or flippantly, and what in the world this 'thorough talk' is going to resemble is beyond me--" "It might have to do with your lack of ceremony--a few minutes ago," she said, laughing at him.
"My--what ?" "Lack of ceremony.

You called me Valerie." "You can easily revenge that presumption, you know." "I think I will--Kelly." He smiled as he painted: "I don't know why the devil they call me Kelly," he mused.