ms so odd your having a studio!" Julia dropped, speaking so
quickly that the words were almost incomprehensible.

"Doesn't it sound absurd, for all the good it does me, or I do _in_ it?
Of course one can produce nothing but rubbish on such terms--without
continuity or persistence, with just a few days here and there. I ought
to be ashamed of myself, no doubt; but even my rubbish interests me.
'_Guenille si l'on veut, ma guenille m'est chere_.' But I'll go down to
Harsh with you in a moment, Julia," Nick pursued: "that would do as well
if we could be quiet there, without people, without a creature; and I
should really be perfectly content. You'd beautifully sit for me; it
would be the occasion we've so often wanted and never found."

She shook her head slowly and with a smile that had a meaning for him.
"Thank you, my dear; nothing would induce me to go to Harsh with you."

He looked at her hard. "What's the matter whenever it's a question of
anything of that sort? Are you afraid of me?" She pulled her hand from
him quickly, turning away; but he went on: "Stay with me here then, when
everything's so right for it. We shall do beautifully--have the whole
place, have the whole day, to ourselves. Hang your engagements!
Telegraph you won't come. We'll live at the studio--you'll sit to me
every day. Now or never's our chance--when shall we have so good a one?
Think how charming it will be! I'll make you wish awfully that I may do
something."

"I can't get out of Griffin--it's impossible," Julia said, moving
further away and with her back presented to him.

"Then you _are_ afraid of me--simply!"

She turned straight round, very pale. "Of course I am. You're welcome to
know it."

He went toward her, and for a moment she seemed to make another slight
movement of retreat. This, however, was scarcely perceptible, and there
was nothing to alarm in the tone of reasonable entreaty in which he
spoke as he stood there. "Put an end, Julia, to our absurd situation--it
really can't go on. You've no right to expect a man to be happy or
comfortable in so false a position. We're spoken of odiously--of that we
may be sure; and yet what good have we of it?"

"Spoken of? Do I care for that?"

"Do you mean you're indifferent because there are no grounds? That's
just why I hate it."

"I don't know what you're talking about!" she returned with sharp
disdain.

"Be my wife to-morrow--be my wife next week. Let us have done with this
fant