called
the house full of studios, which was military. But gout, and it is to be
feared drink, had long ago made him physically flaccid, and mentally
rather sulky and vague. He looked a wreck, and as if he guessed that he
was a wreck. An artist on the first floor had labelled him, "The
derelict looking for tips to the offing."

"The lady's here, sir," he observed, on seeing Claude.

"Is she?"

"Been 'ere"--he sometimes dropped an aitch and sometimes did not--"this
half hour."

The fact apparently surprised him, almost indeed upset him.

"This 'alf hour," he repeated, this time dropping the aitch to make a
change.

"Oh," said Claude, disdaining the explanation which seemed to be
expected.

He walked on, leaving the guardian to his gout.

The studio was lit up, and directly Claude opened the door he smelt
coffee and something else--sausages, he fancied. At once he guessed why
Charmian had arranged to meet him at the studio, instead of going there
with him. He shut the door slowly. Yes, certainly, sausages.

"Charmian!" he called.

She came out from behind the screen, dressed in a very plain,
workmanlike black gown, over which she was wearing a large butcher blue
apron. Her sleeves were turned up and her face was flushed. Claude
thought she looked younger than she usually did.

"What are you doing?"

"Cooking the dinner," she replied, in a practical voice. "It will be
ready in a minute. Take off your coat and sit down."

She turned round and disappeared. Something behind the screen was
hissing like a snake.

Claude now saw a table laid in the middle of the studio. On a rough
white cloth were plates, knives, and forks, large coffee cups with
flowers coarsely painted on a gray ground with a faint tinge of blue in
it, rolls of bread, butter, a cake richly brown in color. A vase of
coarse, but effective pottery, full of scented wild geranium, stood in
the midst. Claude took off hat and coat, hung them up on a hook, and
glanced around.

Certainly Charmian had arranged the furniture well, chosen it well, too.
The place looked cosy, and everything was in excellent taste. There was
comfort without luxury. Claude felt that he ought to be very grateful.

"Coming!"

Her voice cried out from behind the screen, and she appeared bearing a
large dish full of smoking sausages, which she set down on the table.

"Now for the eggs and the coffee!" she said.

Another moment and they were on the table, too, with a pla