for a _suisse_(such as was being served to
all the other diners), I was bluntly told there were no more. It was
obvious I was near the end of my tether; one plank divided me from want,
and now I felt it tremble. I passed a sleepless night, and the first
thing in the morning took my way to Myner's studio. It was a step I had
long meditated and long refrained from; for I was scarce intimate with
the Englishman; and though I knew him to possess plenty of money,
neither his manner nor his reputation were the least encouraging to
beggars.

I found him at work on a picture, which I was able conscientiously to
praise, dressed in his usual tweeds--plain, but pretty fresh, and
standing out in disagreeable contrast to my own withered and degraded
outfit. As we talked, he continued to shift his eyes watchfully between
his handiwork and the fat model, who sat at the far end of the studio in
a state of nature, with one arm gallantly arched above her head. My
errand would have been difficult enough under the best of circumstances:
placed between Myner, immersed in his art, and the white, fat, naked
female in a ridiculous attitude, I found it quite impossible. Again and
again I attempted to approach the point, again and again fell back on
commendations of the picture; and it was not until the model had enjoyed
an interval of repose, during which she took the conversation in her own
hands and regaled us (in a soft, weak voice) with details as to her
husband's prosperity, her sister's lamented decline from the paths of
virtue, and the consequent wrath of her father, a peasant of stern
principles, in the vicinity of Chalons on the Marne--it was not, I say,
until after this was over, and I had once more cleared my throat for the
attack, and once more dropped aside into some commonplace about the
picture, that Myner himself brought me suddenly and vigorously to the
point.

"You didn't come here to talk this rot," said he.

"No," I replied sullenly; "I came to borrow money."

He painted a while in silence.

"I don't think we were ever very intimate?" he asked.

"Thank you," said I. "I can take my answer," and I made as if to go,
rage boiling in my heart.

"Of course you can go if you like," said Myner, "but I advise you to
stay and have it out."

"What more is there to say?" I cried. "You don't want to keep me here
for a needless humiliation?"

"Look here, Dodd; you must try and command your temper," said he. "This
interview is