ngular capacity for suffering. This
was a man who knew his mind and was determined to achieve his desire; it
refreshed her vastly after the extreme weakness of the young painters
with whom of late she had mostly consorted. But those quick dark eyes
were able to express an anguish that was hardly tolerable, and the mobile
mouth had a nervous intensity which suggested that he might easily suffer
the very agonies of woe.

Tea was ready, and Arthur stood up to receive his cup.

'Sit down,' said Margaret. 'I'll bring you everything you want, and I
know exactly how much sugar to put in. It pleases me to wait on you.'

With the grace that marked all her movements she walked cross the studio,
the filled cup in one hand and the plate of cakes in the other. To Susie
it seemed that he was overwhelmed with gratitude by Margaret's
condescension. His eyes were soft with indescribable tenderness as he
took the sweetmeats she gave him. Margaret smiled with happy pride. For
all her good-nature, Susie could not prevent the pang that wrung her
heart; for she too was capable of love. There was in her a wealth of
passionate affection that none had sought to find. None had ever
whispered in her ears the charming nonsense that she read in books. She
recognised that she had no beauty to help her, but once she had at least
the charm of vivacious youth. That was gone now, and the freedom to go
into the world had come too late; yet her instinct told her that she was
made to be a decent man's wife and the mother of children. She stopped
in the middle of her bright chatter, fearing to trust her voice, but
Margaret and Arthur were too much occupied to notice that she had ceased
to speak. They sat side by side and enjoyed the happiness of one
another's company.

'What a fool I am!' thought Susie.

She had learnt long ago that common sense, intelligence, good-nature, and
strength of character were unimportant in comparison with a pretty face.
She shrugged her shoulders.

'I don't know if you young things realise that it's growing late. If you
want us to dine at the Chien Noir, you must leave us now, so that we can
make ourselves tidy.'

'Very well,' said Arthur, getting up. 'I'll go back to my hotel and have
a wash. We'll meet at half-past seven.'

When Margaret had closed the door on him, she turned to her friend.

'Well, what do you think?' she asked, smiling.

'You can't expect me to form a definite opinion of a man whom I've seen
for s