'm
not a damned photographer!"

"Should not a portrait be like?" said Arabian, still in the very soft
voice. "Am I wrong, then?"

"Of course not!" said Miss Van Tuyn, frowning at Garstin.

At that moment absolutely, and without any reserve, she hated him.

"Then you're satisfied?" jerked out Garstin.

"Indeed--yes, Dick Garstin. This is a valuable possession for me."

"Possession?" said Garstin, as if startled. "Oh, yes, to be sure! You're
to have it--presently!"

"Quite so. I am to have it. It is indeed very fine. Do not you think so,
Miss Van Tuyn?"

For the first time since he had seen the portrait he looked away from
it, and his eyes rested on her. She felt that she trembled under those
eyes, and hoped that he did not see it.

"You do not say! Surely this is a very fine picture?"

He seemed to be asking her to tell him whether or not the portrait ought
to be admired. There was just then an odd simplicity, or pretence of
simplicity, in his manner which was almost boyish. And his eyes seemed
to be appealing to her.

"It is a magnificent piece of painting," she forced herself to say.

But she said it coldly, reluctantly.

"Then I am not wrong."

He looked pleased.

"My eye is not very educated. I fear to express my opinion before people
such as you"--he looked towards Garstin, and added--"and you, Dick
Garstin."

And then he turned away from the picture with the manner of a man who
had done with it. She was amazed at his coolness, his perfect ease of
manner.

"May I ask for a cigar, Dick Garstin?" he said.

"Pardon!" said Garstin gruffly.

Miss Van Tuyn noticed that he seemed very ill at ease. His rough
self-possession had deserted him. He looked almost shy and awkward.
Before going to the cabinet he went to the easel and noisily wheeled it
away. Then he fetched the cigar and poured out a drink for Arabian.

"Light up, old chap! Have a drink!"

There was surely reluctant admiration in his voice.

Arabian accepted the drink, lit the cigar, sat down, and began to talk
about his flat. At that moment he dominated them both. Miss Van Tuyn
felt it. He talked much more than she had ever before heard him talk in
the studio, and expressed himself better, with more fluency than usual.
Garstin said very little. There was a fixed flush on his cheek-bones and
an angry light in his eyes. He sat watching Arabian with a hostile, and
yet half-admiring, scrutiny, smoking rapidly, nervously, and twisting
his