Oh, Mr. Dallison, I could do everything for you. I wouldn't
mind anything, and I'm not like some girls; I do know what I'm talking
about."
"Do you?"
The little model put her hands up, and, covering her face, said:
"If you'd try and see!"
Hilary's sensuous feeling almost vanished; a lump rose in his throat
instead.
"My child," he said, "you are too generous!"
The little model seemed to know instinctively that by touching his
spirit she had lost ground. Uncovering her face, she spoke breathlessly,
growing very pale:
"Oh no, I'm not. I want to be let come; I don't want to stay here. I
know I'll get into mischief if you don't take me--oh, I know I will!"
"If I were to let you come with me," said Hilary, "what then? What sort
of companion should I be to you, or you to me? You know very well. Only
one sort. It's no use pretending, child, that we've any interests in
common."
The little model came closer.
"I know what I am," she said, "and I don't want to be anything else. I
can do what you tell me to, and I shan't ever complain. I'm not worth
any more!"
"You're worth more," muttered Hilary, "than I can ever give you, and I'm
worth more than you can ever give me."
The little model tried to answer, but her words would not pass her
throat; she threw her head back trying to free them, and stood, swaying.
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