ys well to kill two birds with one
expenditure of force, it was found that Mrs. Hughs, the seamstress, had a
single room to let unfurnished, and would be more than glad of four
shillings, or even three and six, a week for it. Furniture was also
found for her: a bed that creaked, a washstand, table, and chest of
drawers; a carpet, two chairs, and certain things to cook with; some of
those old photographs and prints that hide in cupboards, and a peculiar
little clock, which frequently forgot the time of day. All these and
some elementary articles of dress were sent round in a little van, with
three ferns whose time had nearly come, and a piece of the plant called
"honesty." Soon after this she came to "sit." She was a very quiet and
passive little model, and was not required to pose half-draped, Bianca
having decided that, after all, "The Shadow" was better represented fully
clothed; for, though she discussed the nude, and looked on it with
freedom, when it came to painting unclothed people, she felt a sort of
physical aversion.

Hilary, who was curious, as a man naturally would be, about anyone who
had fainted from hunger at his feet, came every now and then to see, and
would sit watching this little half-starved girl with kindly and
screwed-up eyes. About his personality there was all the evidence of
that saying current among those who knew him: "Hilary would walk a mile
sooner than tread on an ant." The little model, from the moment when he
poured liqueur between her teeth, seemed to feel he had a claim on her,
for she reserved her small, matter-of-fact confessions for his ears. She
made them in the garden, coming in or going out; or outside, and, now and
then, inside his study, like a child who comes and shows you a sore
finger. Thus, quite suddenly:

"I've four shillings left over this week, Mr. Dallison," or, "Old Mr.
Creed's gone to the hospital to-day, Mr. Dallison."

Her face soon became less bloodless than on that first evening, but it
was still pale, inclined to colour in wrong places on cold days, with
little blue veins about the temples and shadows under the eyes. The lips
were still always a trifle parted, and she still seemed to be looking out
for what was coming, like a little Madonna, or Venus, in a Botticelli
picture. This look of hers, coupled with the matter-of-factness of her
speech, gave its flavour to her personality....

On Christmas Day the picture was on view to Mr. Purcey, who had ch