That girl would be no good
at any sort of work, except 'sitting,' I suppose. Aunt B. used to say
she sat well. There's something queer about her face; it reminds me a
little of that Botticelli Madonna in the National Gallery, the full-face
one; not so much in the shape as in the expression--almost stupid, and
yet as if things were going to happen to her. Her hands and arms are
pretty, and her feet are smaller than mine. She's two years older than
me. I asked her why she went in for being a model, which is beastly
work. She said she was glad to get anything! I asked her why she didn't
go into a shop or into service. She didn't answer at once, and then said
she hadn't had any recommendations--didn't know where to try; then, all
of a sudden, she grew quite sulky, and said she didn't want to...."
Thyme paused to pencil in a sketch of the little model's profile....
"She had on a really pretty frock, quite simple and well made--it must
have cost three or four pounds. She can't be so very badly off, or
somebody gave it her...."
And again Thyme paused.
"She looked ever so much prettier in it than she used to in her old
brown skirt, I thought .... Uncle Hilary came to dinner last night. We
talked of social questions; we always discuss things when he comes.
I can't help liking Uncle Hilary; he has such kind eyes, and he's so
gentle that you never lose your temper with him.
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