[MRS. MEGAN timidly tugs his sleeve. TIMSON, screened as he
thinks by the picture, has drawn from his bulky pocket a bottle
and is taking a stealthy swig.]

WELLWYN. [To MRS. MEGAN, affecting not to notice.] How much do I owe
you?

MRS. MEGAN. [A little surprised.] You paid me for to-day-all 'cept
a penny.

WELLWYN. Well! Here it is. [He gives her a coin.] Go and get your
feet on!

MRS. MEGAN. You've give me 'arf a crown.

WELLWYN. Cut away now!

[MRS. MEGAN, smiling at the coin, goes towards the model's room.
She looks back at WELLWYN, as if to draw his eyes to her, but he
is gazing at the picture; then, catching old TIMSON'S sour
glance, she grimaces at him, kicking up her feet with a little
squeal. But when WELLWYN turns to the sound, she is demurely
passing through the doorway.]

TIMSON. [In his voice of dubious sobriety.] I've finished these yer
brushes, sir. It's not a man's work. I've been thinkin' if you'd
keep an 'orse, I could give yer satisfaction.

WELLWYN. Would the horse, Timson?

TIMSON. [Looking him up and down.] I knows of one that would just
suit yer. Reel 'orse, you'd like 'im.

WELLWYN. [Shaking his head.] Afraid not, Timson! Awfully sorry,
though, to have nothing better for you than this, at present.

TIMSON. [Faintly waving the brushes.] Of course, if you can't
afford it, I don't press you--it's only that I feel I'm not doing
meself justice. [Confidentially.] There's just one thing, sir; I
can't bear to see a gen'leman imposed on. That foreigner--'e's not
the sort to 'ave about the place. Talk? Oh! ah! But 'e'll never
do any good with 'imself. He's a alien.

WELLWYN. Terrible misfortune to a fellow, Timson.

TIMSON. Don't you believe it, sir; it's his fault I says to the
young lady yesterday: Miss Ann, your father's a gen'leman [with a
sudden accent of hoarse sincerity], and so you are--I don't mind
sayin' it--but, I said, he's too easy-goin'.

WELLWYN. Indeed!

TIMSON. Well, see that girl now! [He shakes his head.] I never did
believe in goin' behind a person's back--I'm an Englishman--but
[lowering his voice] she's a bad hat, sir. Why, look at the street
she comes from!

WELLWYN. Oh! you know it.

TIMSON. Lived there meself larst three years. See the difference a
few days' corn's made in her. She's that saucy you can't touch 'er
head.

WELLWYN. Is there any necessity, Timson?

TIMSON