‘It’s no use my working today, girls. I need some fresh air’. Ginia had not moved from the stair. She could see Amelia’s legs against the light, some distance away. Quietly she said, as if to herself, ‘Let’s go, Amelia’.

‘Will this be the little friend who wants to meet me? But she’s a mere babe. Let’s see you in the light’.

Ginia climbed the last stair, reluctantly, feeling the grey inquisitive eyes fixed on her. She could not decide whether they were the eyes of an old man or a cunning old devil. She heard Amelia’s voice – brusque, irritated – saying, ‘But you gave us an appointment’.

‘What do you want to do here?’ he said. ‘What in heaven’s name? You are tired too. Work is a thing you’ve got to go at gently. Aren’t you thankful to have a rest?’

Then Amelia went and sat down on a chair under the shadow of the curtain and Ginia found herself standing for what appeared an endless time not knowing how to respond to the glances she received from the two of them who stared at each other and then at her. The fellow gave her the impression that he was joking, but it was a private joke for himself alone. He was still talking to her; he spoke in jerks and kept repeating, ‘What do you want to do?’ Then suddenly the diminutive figure hopped back and drew the curtains still further to one side. A smell of freshly mixed gesso and varnish filled the empty studio.

‘We are boiling hot’, said Amelia, ‘at least you can let us cool down a bit, can’t he, Ginia?’ As she spoke their bearded friend swung round again and opened the large skylights. Amelia who was sitting with her legs crossed, watched him and laughed. Below the window was an easel bearing a canvas covered with daubs of colour partly scraped down. ‘If you don’t work now while it’s light, when do you work?’ remarked Amelia. ‘I bet you are going to let me down and have another model’. ‘I let down everybody in existence’, shouted the painter, lowering his chin. ‘Do you consider yourself any more valuable than a horse or a plant? It’s work for me even when I am out walking, can’t you understand that?’ Meanwhile he rummaged about in a chest under the easel and threw out some sheets of paper, some small boxes of colour and some brushes. Amelia jumped up from her seat, removed her hat and winked at Ginia. ‘Why don’t you sketch my friend?’ she asked laughingly. ‘She’s never sat for anyone before’. The painter turned round. ‘All right, I will’, he said, ‘she’s got an interesting face’.

He began to walk round Ginia, keeping a short distance away, his head turned towards her. In one hand he held a pencil and with the other he stroked his beard, staring at her all the time like a cat. Ginia who was in the centre of the studio did not dare move. Then he directed her to stand in the light, and without taking his eyes off her, threw a sheet of paper on to the easel board and began to draw. A yellow cloud could be seen in the sky and some roofs of houses; Ginia fixed her eyes on the cloud. Her heart was thumping hard.