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In the Quarter

Год написания книги
2019
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Gethryn began to hum the air of the dream song, smiling, ``Yes 'tis a dream – a dream of love,'' he repeated, but stopped.

Yvonne's temples and throat were crimson.

``Please open the window,'' she cried, ``it's so warm here.''

``Hélène, I think you are blushing,'' said he, mischievously.

She turned her head away from him. He rose and opened the window, leaning out a moment; his heart was beating violently. Presently he returned.

``It's one o'clock.''

No answer.

``Hélène, it's one o'clock in the morning.''

``Are you tired?'' she murmured.

``No.''

``Nor I – don't go.''

``But it's one o'clock.''

``Don't go yet.''

He sank down irresolutely on the rug again. ``I ought to go,'' he murmured.

``Are we to remain friends?''

``That is for Hélène to say.''

``And Hélène will leave it to Homer!''

``To whom?'' said Gethryn.

``Monsieur Homer,'' said the girl, faintly.

``But that was a tragedy.''

``But they were friends.''

``In a way. Yes, in a way.''

Gethryn tried to return to a light tone. ``They fell in love, I believe.'' No answer. ``Very well,'' said Gethryn, still trying to joke, ``I will carry you off in a boat, then.''

``To Troy – when?''

``No, to Meudon, when you are well. Do you like the country?''

``I love it,'' she said.

``Well, I'll take my easel and my paints along too.''

She looked at him seriously. ``You are an artist – I heard that from the concierge.''

``Yes,'' said Gethryn, ``I think I may claim the title tonight.''

And then he told her about the Salon. She listened and brightened with sympathy. Then she grew silent.

``Do you paint landscapes?''

``Figures,'' said the young man, shortly.

``From models?''

``Of course,'' he answered, still more drily.

``Draped,'' she persisted.

``No.''

``I hate models!'' she cried out, almost fiercely.

``They are not a pleasing set, as a rule,'' he admitted. ``But I know some decent ones.''

She shivered and shook her curly head. ``Some are very pretty, I suppose.''

``Some.''

``Do you know Sarah Brown?''

``Yes, I know Sarah.''

``Men go wild about her.''

``I never did.''

Yvonne was out of humor. ``Oh,'' she cried, petulantly, ``you are very cold – you Americans – like ice.''

``Because we don't run after Sarah?''

``Because you are a nation of business, and – ''

``And brains,'' said Gethryn, drily.

There was an uncomfortable pause. Gethryn looked at the girl. She lay with her face turned from him.

``Hélène!'' No answer. ``Yvonne – Mademoiselle!'' No answer. ``It's two o'clock.''
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