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She
wasn't laughing at him now, be it understood; had made her request with
a quite adorable seriousness. Only ...
He gave her the address of an art academy on Madison Street and thither
at once she made her way, faintly cheered by the note on which her
encounter with the young man had ended, but on the whole rather
depressed by the thought of the five years he'd talked about.
They were more tactful at the new place. _Ars Longa est_ was not a motto
they paraded. They were not shocked at all at the notion of a young
woman's learning as much as she could about drawing in two weeks. There
was a portrait sketch class every morning; twenty minute poses. You put
down as much as you could of how the model looked to you in that space
of time, and then began again on something else. All the equipment Rose
would need was a big apron, a stick of charcoal and a block of drawing
paper; all of which were obtainable on the premises. She could begin
this minute if she liked. It was almost as simple as getting on a
pay-as-you-enter street-car.


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