ne of whose pages she could read. And yet
she thought he had what is sometimes called an "open" face. There was
nothing sly in the expression of his eyes. They met other eyes steadily,
sometimes with a sort of frank audacity, sometimes with--apparently--an
almost pleading wistfulness.

Finally, as if coming to a conclusion as to what he considered it wise
to do for the moment, Arabian said:

"Excuse me, but are these pictures which I see portraits painted by
you?"

"Every one of them," said Garstin, rather roughly and impatiently.

"Will you allow me to look at them?"

"They're there to be looked at."

Again Arabian glanced at Miss Van Tuyn. She got up from the sofa
quickly.

"I will show Mr. Arabian the pictures," she said.

She had noticed the cloud lowering on Garstin's face and knew that he
was irritated by Arabian's hesitation. As Garstin had once said to her
he could be "sensitive," although his manners were often rough, and
his face was what is usually called a "hard" face. And he was quite
unaccustomed to meet with any resistance, even with any hesitation,
when he was disposed to paint anyone, man or woman. Besides, the fact
of Arabian's arrival at the studio had naturally led Garstin to expect
compliance with his wish already expressed at the Cafe Royal. He was now
obviously in a surly temper, and Miss Van Tuyn knew from experience that
when resisted he was quite capable of an explosion. How, she wondered,
would Arabian face an outburst from Garstin? She could not tell. But she
thought it wise if possible to avoid anything disagreeable. So she came
forward smiling.

"That will be very kind," said Arabian, in his soft and warm voice, and
with his marked but charming foreign accent. "I am not expert in these
matters."

Garstin pushed up his lips in a sort of sneer. Miss Van Tuyn sent him a
look, and for once he heeded a wish of hers.

"I'll be back in a minute," he said. "Have a good stare at my stuff, and
if you don't like it--why, damn it, you're free to say so."

Miss Van Tuyn's look had sent him away down the stairs to the ground
floor studio. Arabian had not missed her message, but he was apparently
quite impassive, and did not show that he had noticed the painter's ill
humour.

For the first time Miss Van Tuyn was quite alone with the living bronze.

"Do you know much about pictures?" she asked him.

"Not very much," he answered, with a long, soft look at her. "I have
only one way to jud