o till five, so that Craven might have time
to get to Glebe Place from the Foreign Office. Of course, he might not
choose to come. But if he were really jealous she thought he would come.

Now she was anticipating the coming interview with an uneasiness which
she could only conceal by a strong effort.

At last, after repeated failures, Garstin was beginning to work with
energy and real satisfaction. Of late he had been almost venomous. His
impotence to do what he wished to do had made him more disagreeable,
more brutal even than usual. His habitual brusqueness had often
degenerated into downright rudeness. But suddenly a change had come, one
of those mysterious changes in the mood and powers of an artist which
neither he nor anyone else can understand. Abruptly the force which had
abandoned him had returned.

The change had occurred on the day of Miss Van Tuyn's conversation
through the telephone with Craven, a Friday.

Arabian had refused to sit on the Saturday and Sunday. He said he was
moving into his Chelsea flat, and had many things to do. He could not
come to the studio again till the Monday afternoon at half-past two.
Garstin had been furious, but he had been met by a will apparently as
inflexible as his own.

"I am sorry, but I cannot help it, Dick Garstin," Arabian had said.

And after a pause he had added:

"I hope I have not shown impatience all this long time?"

Garstin had cursed, but he had not persisted. Evidently he had realized
that persistence would be useless. On the Monday he had received Arabian
with frigid hauteur, but soon he had become intent on his work and had
apparently forgotten his grievance.

Half-past four struck--then the quarter to five. Garstin had been
painting for more than two hours. Now he put down his brush and frowned,
still looking at Arabian, who was sitting in an easy, almost casual
position, with his magnificent brown throat and shoulders exposed.

"Finished!" he said in his loud bass voice.

Miss Van Tuyn, who was curled up on a divan in a corner of the studio,
moved and put down a book which she had been pretending to read. Garstin
had forbidden her to come near to him that day while he was painting.

"Finished!" she exclaimed. "Do you mean--"

"No, damn it, I don't!" said Garstin, with exasperation. "I don't! Do
you take me for a magician, or what? I have finished for to-day! Now
then!"

He began to move the easel. Miss Van Tuyn got up, and Arabian, without