"Frida," she
said, "you are beautiful to--to hurt to-night Why has
nobody ever painted a creature like you?"
It was as if she touched an inner spring of the girl's
nature, touched it electrically. Elfrida leaned forward
consciously with shining eyes. "Truly am I, Janetta?
Ah--to-night! Well, yes, perhaps to-night, I am. It is
an effect of chiaroscuro. But what about always--what
about generally, Janetta? I have such horrid doubts. If
it weren't for my nose I should be satisfied--yes, I
think I should be satisfied. But I _can't_ deceive myself
about my nose, Janetta; it's thick!"
"It isn't a particularly spiritually-minded nose," Janet
laughed. "But console yourself, it's thoughtful."
Elfrida put her elbows on her knees and framed her face
with the palms of her hands. "If I am beautiful to-night
you ought to love me. Do you love me, Janetta? Really
_love_ me? Could you imagine," she went on, with a
whimsical spoiled shake of her head, "any one else doing
it?"
Janet's fingers closed tightly on the arm of her chair.
Was it coming already, then?
"Yes," she said slowly, "I could imagine it well."
"More than one?" Elfrida insisted prettily. "More than
two or three? A dozen, perhaps?"
"Quite a dozen," Janet smiled.
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