It was very true that she
posed admirably; she was a fine creature to paint. Her prettiness
inspired him, and also her audacity, as he was content to regard it
for the moment. He wondered about her--who she was, and what she
was--perceiving that the so-called audacity was not vulgar boldness,
but the play of an original and probably interesting character. It was
obvious that she was a perfect lady, but it was equally obvious that
she was irregularly clever. Longueville's little figure was a success--a
charming success, he thought, as he put on the last touches. While he
was doing this, his model's companion came into view. She came out of
the church, pausing a moment as she looked from her daughter to the
young man in the corner of the terrace; then she walked straight over
to the young girl. She was a delicate little gentlewoman, with a light,
quick step.
Longueville's five minutes were up; so, leaving his place, he approached
the two ladies, sketch in hand. The elder one, who had passed her hand
into her daughter's arm, looked up at him with clear, surprised eyes;
she was a charming old woman. Her eyes were very pretty, and on either
side of them, above a pair of fine dark brows, was a band of silvery
hair, rather coquettishly arranged.
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