Ricky whispered that
she did not wonder models were hard to get. After a while Rupert went
away without Charity noticing his leaving. The sun burned Val's cheek
where the paint had dried and he felt a trickle of moisture edge down
his spine. But Charity worked on, thoroughly intent upon what was
growing under her brushes.
It must have been close to noon when she was at last interrupted.
"Hello there, Miss Biglow!"
Two men stood below the terrace on a garden path. One of them waved his
hat as Charity looked around. And behind them stood Jeems.
"Go away," said the worker, "go away, Judson Holmes. I haven't any time
for you today."
"Not after I've come all the way from New York to see you?" he asked
reproachfully. "Why, Charity!" He had the reddest hair Val had ever
seen--and the homeliest face--but his small-boy grin was friendliness
itself.
"Go away," she repeated stubbornly.
"Nope!" He shook his head firmly. "I'm staying right here until you
forget that for at least a minute." He motioned toward the picture.
With a sigh she put down her brush. "I suppose I'll have to humor you."
"Miss Charity," Jeems had not taken his eyes from the two models since
he had arrived and he did not move them now, "what're they all fixed up
like that fur?"
"It's a picture for a story," she explained. "A story about Haiti in the
old days--"
"Ah reckon Ah know," he nodded eagerly, his face suddenly alight.
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