a
red tinge, too, in her eyelids, deepening the "chicory-flower" colour
of her eyes. She began to speak, repeating a lesson evidently learned by
heart.

"I wouldn't be in your way. I wouldn't cost much. I could do everything
you wanted. I could learn typewriting. I needn't live too near, or that;
if you didn't want me, because of people talking; I'm used to being
alone. 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.
Seeing her like this before him, white as a sheet, with her eyes closed
and her lips parted, as though about to faint, Hilary seized her by
the shoulders. At the touch of those soft shoulders, his face became
suffused with blood, his lips trembled. Suddenly her eyes opened ever
so little between their lids, and looked at him. And the perception that
she was not really going to faint, that it was a little desperate wile
of this child Delilah, made him wrench away his hands. The moment she
felt that grasp relax she sank down and clasped his knees, pressing them
to her bosom so that he could not stir. Closer and closer she pressed
them to her, till it seemed as though she must be bruising her flesh.
Her breath came in sobs; her eyes wer