"Not at all! Chatter away!"
But she preferred to remain silent. To tell the truth, this was not
Erna's first experience as a sitter. She had posed for two or three
other artists in the past: once as Carmen, another time as a madonna,
and a third time for some allegorical effort concerning Spring. Breen
continued to study her for the drawing. His mind, however, or that
region wherein its desires lay, was more busy than his pencil. Ten
minutes or so later, he stopped drawing and held the pad off, squinted
one eye at Erna, then at the drawing and again at Erna.
"Do you like being winked at?" he asked.
"Depends upon who's doin' it," she commented.
"Don't you like me to do it?"
"I don't know," she replied enigmatically.
He got up from his chair and approached her.
"Bring the picture with you!" she requested.
Breen, however, once more tried to put his hands on her. She pushed back
her chair, and in outraged tones commanded: "Mr. Breen!"
"I beg your pardon," he said with well assumed candor, but he was
irritated to a considerable degree. "I merely wanted to change your pose
a bit."
"Well, why didn't you ask _me_ to do it?" she complained, her innocent
self again.
He returned to his chair without explaining.
"Am I all right now?" she asked.
"Pull your chair forward again."
"So?"
"That'll do."
Erna watched him as before, and Breen went on drawing. But his usually
well balanced mind was ruffled. He tried to construct some other scheme.
Erna had always been quite prone (after all, she was only a waitress) to
permit occasional familiarity on his part at Landsmann's. What made her
play the prude away from home? Perhaps she was, at heart, like the rest
of her class, nothing more than a narrow moralistic thing, and not the
unmoral soul he had constantly given her credit for being. His disgust
was supreme. On the contrary, he mused, she might only be playing a
part. Admitting that Erna, in society, only held the position of
waitress, still, she was a very shrewd girl. He must try some other
attack, allowing her the credit she deserved. He had attempted flattery,
pleasantry and not a little boldness. What should be his next step?
Eventually, the young artist tried bribery. Having finished his work, he
presented it to Erna accompanied by a short but eloquently complimentary
speech. The girl did not neglect to admire the drawing and to thank him
for the present. His act, apparently, made no stronger impression on
her. Later, he suggested and, with her consent, prepared and served some
tea and biscuits. They were sitting at a small cosy table. About them,
the atmosphere had spread a halo of warmth and intimacy. And Breen
played host and admirer to the best of his accomplished ability. But
Erna refused to respond any more than she had done earlier. She appeared
grateful; she talked a good deal; and she seemed completely at ease with
Breen and her surroundings. But she would not respond more than she had
done. Breen's disgust threatened to reach a climax.
There was a reason for Erna's conduct. She, in her greed of heart,
playing with Breen, as she had with Carstairs, the part of a watchful
cat, had come to several conclusions. She disliked the artist's long,
angular figure, his sharp, shrewd face, and most of all, his cold,
self-sympathetic eyes. And she disliked him personally even more.
Without claiming any undue powers of discernment for Erna, one would
surely have had to credit her with the possession of a strong feminine
instinct. Her instinct had resented his attentions, for, behind them
all, she had felt that he, as a gentleman, was shoving her down where
she belonged. She was a waitress, but she was good looking enough and
lots of fun for him--and much more in prospect. In a word, Breen had
brought out the hard calculating side of her nature, and she had raised
her guard against him.
Furthermore, Erna was in a bad humor when she came to Breen's studio,
her genial conduct notwithstanding. She had seen Jimmy that noon in the
dining room, but he had spent all of his time talking fight with the
customers. As though the fact that he was to turn to the ring to-morrow
night would bring the world to an end! She would pay him for neglecting
her. Besides, Mr. Nielsen had been approaching her. He had been asking
her to "pose" for him too. Did he also want to take advantage of her?
Still, there was something human inside of him. He had always acted a
little differently from the others. As for Jimmy--
Breen interrupted her reflection. He reached across the table and tried
to touch her hand. Erna's face flushed with anger, and her hand came
down upon his with a loud slap. Just as quickly, she recollected
herself. "Excuse me!" she asked sullenly.
Breen, however, was through. He arose from his chair. This had been
impudence beyond all impudence. And the man of success turned his back
upon the waitress.
Erna likewise got up, leaving the sketch on the table. She did not offer
a second apology. Instead, she drew on her coat, picked up her hat and
walked over to the glass. Her face was crimson.
Breen was quite sorry. He came behind Erna and made several attempts to
clear some momentary pangs of conscience. But Erna would not listen. He
moved away, pride clouding his face.
Erna hurried toward the door. Breen followed her, offering one or two
final excuses. But she refused to answer, and went out. Breen slammed
the door behind her. Presently, he was busy pacing the studio in a vain
endeavor to regain some of his composure.
Steps were to be heard coming along the hallway. The door was opened
cautiously, and Nielsen's head and shoulders appeared. And his caressing
voice questioned: "Well, your Highness, what is your decision? Moral,
unmoral or--?"