prevent you from looking at a damned good
picture? If not, come round to the studio to-morrow any time after lunch
and have a squint at a king in the underworld.

D. G.

At once her feeling of acute boredom left her, was replaced by a keen
sense of excitement. She realized immediately that at last Garstin had
finished his picture, that at last he had satisfied himself. She had not
seen Garstin since the day when she had heard of her father's death.
Nor had she seen Arabian. Characteristically, Garstin had not taken
the trouble to send her a letter of condolence. He never bothered to
do anything conventional. If he had written he would probably had
congratulated her on coming into a fortune. Arabian's sympathy had
already been expressed. Naturally, therefore, he had not written to her.
But he had made no sign in all these days, had not left a card, had not
attempted to see her. Day after day she had wondered whether he would
do something, give some evidence of life, of intention. Nothing! He had
just let her alone. But in his inaction she had felt him intensely,
far more than she felt other men in their actions. He had, as it were,
surrounded her with his silence, had weighed upon her by his absence.
She feared and was fascinated by his apparent indifference, as formerly,
when with him, she had feared and been fascinated by his reticence of
speech and of conduct. Only once had he taken the initiative with her,
when he had ordered the taxi-cab driver to go to Rose Tree Gardens.
And even then, when he had had her there alone in his flat, nothing had
happened. And he had let her go without any attempt to detain her.

In his passivity there was something hypnotic which acted upon her. She
felt it charged with power, with intention, even almost with brutality.
There was a great cry for her in his silence.

She did not answer Garstin's note. That was not necessary. She knew she
would see him on the morrow.

Directly after lunch on the following day she walked to Glebe Place,
wondering whether Arabian would be there.

As usual, Garstin answered the door and covered her with a comprehensive
glance as she stood on the doorstep.

"Black suites you," he said. "You ought never to go out of mourning."

"Thank you for your kind sympathy, Dick," she answered. "One can
always depend on you for delicacy of feeling and expression in time of
trouble."

He smiled as he shut the door.

"You tartar!" he said. "Be careful you do