druggist had always figured as "a bit of a gasbag" with a ready flow of conversation and a gift of easy compliment. But it would seem that this estimate did him less than justice. Mr. Boultby was better informed than she had thought. And at this moment a phrase he had used came back to her with a force that was a little startling. "A girl as good-looking as you can always get a living," Mr. Boultby had once said.
"I suppose you mean my hair?" said June naïvely.
He showed two rows of very white and level teeth in a smile which piqued her curiosity.
"Partly your hair, and partly your figure," he said, taking a second tiny sip of ginger beer. "Why not come and try? I have a studio in Haliburton Street, just out of Manning Square."
June shook a doubtful head. She then gave a glance sideways at the imbiber of the ginger beer. Her knowledge of the world was slender, but she was not a fool, and there was something about this "forthcomingness" which even exceeded that of Mr. Boultby himself, that warned her to be careful.
"You'd be well paid, of course."
"How much?" June had no false modesty when it came to a question of money. This was an aspect of the matter that had not struck her until then.
"I'd pay you five shillings an hour," he said lightly. "And ten for the altogether."
June's heart gave a leap. To a girl in her position it was a princely reward. Such an offer seemed most tempting. But a moment's consideration of the issues it raised brought on a sudden fit of shyness.
"I don't think I could," she said.
