a minute. I'm
what they call an artist by profession. You know what artists do?'

'They draw the things in red and black ink on the pop-shop labels.'

'I dare say. I haven't risen to pop-shop labels yet. Those are done by
the Academicians. I want to draw your head.'

'What for?'

'Because it's pretty. That is why you will come to the room across the
landing three times a week at eleven in the morning, and I'll give you
three quid a week just for sitting still and being drawn. And there's a
quid on account.'

'For nothing? Oh, my!' The girl turned the sovereign in her hand, and
with more foolish tears, 'Ain't neither o' you two gentlemen afraid of
my bilking you?'

'No. Only ugly girls do that. Try and remember this place. And, by the
way, what's your name?'

'I'm Bessic,--Bessie---- It's no use giving the rest. Bessie
Broke,--Stone-broke, if you like. What's your names? But there,--no one
ever gives the real ones.'

Dick consulted Torpenhow with his eyes.

'My name's Heldar, and my friend's called Torpenhow; and you must be
sure to come here. Where do you live?'

'South-the-water,--one room,--five and sixpence a week. Aren't you
making fun of me about that three quid?'

'You'll see later on. And, Bessie, next time you come, remember, you
needn't wear that paint. It's bad for the skin, and I have all the
colours you'll be likely to need.'

Bessie withdrew, scrubbing her cheek with a ragged pocket-handkerchief.
The two men looked at each other.

'You're a man,' said Torpenhow.

'I'm afraid I've been a fool. It isn't our business to run about the
earth reforming Bessie Brokes. And a woman of any kind has no right on
this landing.'

'Perhaps she won't come back.'

'She will if she thinks she can get food and warmth here. I know she
will, worse luck. But remember, old man, she isn't a woman; she's my
model; and be careful.'

'The idea! She's a dissolute little scarecrow,--a gutter-snippet and
nothing more.'

'So you think. Wait till she has been fed a little and freed from fear.
That fair type recovers itself very quickly. You won't know her in a
week or two, when that abject fear has died out of her eyes. She'll be
too happy and smiling for my purposes.'

'But surely you're not taking her out of charity?--to please me?'

'I am not in the habit of playing with hot coals to please anybody. She
has been sent from heaven, as I may have remarked before, to help me
with my Melancolia.'

'Never heard