the middle distance a willow tree and beyond the wooded shore of the bay.
During the first sittings Edward liked Mrs. Ludlow. But as time passed his liking changed almost to aversion. She proved to him that no woman is too old to hope that some young man will make love to her. She made herself ridiculous with her hints and her advances and her languishing looks, and she made Edward miserably uncomfortable. The night he stayed to dinner she tried to make him drink too much and didn't succeed. The day the portrait was finished she flung her arms around him and hugged him with astonishing strength and declared her passion for him. She begged him to marry her. She boasted of her money and her influence. She could make him the most famous painter in the world.
Poor Edward, who hated to hurt anybody's feelings! He tried so hard to be kind and affectionate. He patted her shoulders clumsily. He even kissed her. And he lied to her. He said that her love was a wonderful thing to him, wonderful and precious . . . Unfortunately—well—what she suggested was impossible. The girl in Paris—well, he and that girl were husband and wife.
He escaped finally. And spent the next week in dodging and evading the woman's attentions.
