"Look at me," he said.
She looked at him. Her eyes were large and dark, almost black.
He gave her a quill and paper. She sat in the chair, leaning forward, and wrote, an inkwell at her right. He opened a pair of the upper shutters and closed the bottom pair. The room became darker but the light shone on her high round forehead, on her arm resting on the table, on the sleeve of the yellow mantle.
"Move your left hand forward slightly," he said. "There."
She wrote.
"Look at me," he said.
She looked at him.
A Lady Writing
National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.