Anne Warner

“ Lindley twisted up her eyebrows and gazed hard on the subject and then on the sketch-block.
“Oh,” she said, “she talked just the usual light woman and dark man and said I’d be married within a year. I—” her words died away; all her soul was absorbed in the outline on the sketch-block.
“So you do not expect to be married within a year?”
“Rex! The idea! You know I’m never going to marry again. I’m going to live for Art. But that reminds me”—she ceased drawing suddenly—“what do you think? I’ve had a proposal!” ”

“ She shook her head. “No,” she sighed.
They were sitting—not in the studio—but in her little drawing-room below; she was occupying a large easy-chair of the satin-tufted variety—the sort that have wide, broad arms. ”

“ Lindley took a sketch-block and two pencils and sought a seat somewhat aloof from her caller.
“I’m going to draw your head while we talk, ” she remarked parenthetically. “You won’t mind being drawn again, will you? You see you're so good-looking, and then, too, you keep so still.”
Rex laughed; she looked so dear and childlike, waiting for his permission, with her pencil’s tip in her mouth. ”