y of
the corridor and garden to the pavilion. The porter took her into a
dingy little lumber-filled passage and left her there. A soiled pink
satin frock was laid ready for her on a broken chair. As she put it on
she heard a babel of voices in the class-room beyond, and she felt
something like stage-fright as she fumbled at the hooks and eyes; but
a clock struck the hour presently, and she went in then and climbed on
to the throne. At first she saw nothing, but after a while she was
aware of a group of men who stood near the door regarding her.

"_Carina._"

"Yes, a fine colour, but too thin."

When the professor came in he made her sit in a carved chair, and gave
her a fan to hold. The men moved about, choosing their places, and
were silent until he left them with a gruff "_Felice notte_." Olive
noticed the lad who had been called in to Varini's studio to see her;
the boy who sat next him had a round, impudent face, and when
presently she yawned he smiled at her.

"I will ask questions to keep you awake, but you must answer truly.
Have you taken a fancy to anyone here?"

"I don't dislike you or Mario."

They rose simultaneously and bowed. "We are honoured. But why? Bembi
here is a fine figure of a man."

"Enough!" growled Bembi. "You talk too much."

During the rest Olive went to look at the boys' work; it was
brilliantly impressionistic. The younger had evidently founded himself
on Mario, and Mario was, perhaps, a genius.

They came and sat down, one on either side of her.

"Why are you pretending to be a model?" whispered Mario. "We can see
you are not. Are you hiding from someone?"

She shook her head. "I am earning my bread," she answered. "Be kind to
me."

"We will." He patted her bare shoulder with the air of a grandfather,
but his brown eyes sparkled.

"Why are some of the men so old, and why is some of the work so--"

"Bad." Mario squinted at Bembi's black, smudged drawing. "I will tell
you. That bald man in the corner is seventy-two; painting is his
amusement, and he loves models. He wants to marry Fortunata, but she
won't have him because he is toothless. Once, twenty-five years ago,
he sold a watercolour for ten lire and he has never forgotten it."

"Really because he is toothless?"

"Oh, he is mad too, and she is afraid of him. Cesare and I are the
only ones here who will make you look human. It is a pity, as you are
really _carina_."

He patted her shoulder again and pinched her ear,