Her eyes strayed to Pete Lowry.

He was looking upward with that measuring glance which belongs to his profession, estimating the length of time the light would be suitable for the scene he had focussed.

She followed his glance to where the shadow of the kitchen had crept closer to the bench.

Jean was not stupid, and she had passed through the various stages of the kodak fever; she guessed what was in the mind of the operator, and when she met his eyes full, she smiled at him sympathetically.
"I should dearly love to watch you work," she said to him frankly.
"But you see how it is; Mr.Burns hasn't got hold of himself yet.

If he comes to his senses before he has a stroke of apoplexy, will you show me how you run that thing ?" "You bet I will," the red-sweatered one promised her cheerfully.
"How much longer will it be before this bench is in the shade ?" she asked him next.
"Half an hour,--maybe a little longer." Pete glanced again anxiously upward.
"And--how long do these spasms usually last ?" Jean's head tilted toward Robert Grant Burns as impersonally as if she were indicating a horse with colic.
But the camera man had gone as far as was wise, if he cared to continue working for Burns, and he made no reply whatever.