he
exhibition.

It was with that he was now concerned. He called on the manager of
a small gallery near Hanover Square with whom he had already made an
arrangement for the coming May--paying a deposit on the rent--early
in the winter. In his anxiety, he wished now to make the matter still
clearer, to pay down the rest of the rent if need be. He had the notes
always in his breast-pocket, jealously hidden away, lest any other
claim, amid the myriads which pressed upon him, should sweep them from
him.

The junior partner in charge of the gallery and the shop of which it
made part, received him very coldly. The firm had long since regretted
their bargain with a man whose pictures were not likely to sell,
especially as they could have relet the gallery to much better
advantage. But their contract with Fenwick--clinched by the
deposit--could not be evaded; so they were advised.

All, therefore, that the junior partner could do was to try to alarm
Fenwick, as to the incidental expenses involved--hanging, printing,
service, etc. But Fenwick only laughed. 'I shall see to that!' he
said, contemptuously. 'And my pictures will sell, I tell you,' he
added, raising his voice. 'They'll bring a profit both to you and to
me.'

The individual addressed said nothing. He was a tall, well-fed young
man, in a faultless frock-coat, and Fenwick, as they stood together
in the office--the artist had not been offered a chair--disliked him
violently.

'Well, shall I pay you the rest?' said Fenwick, abruptly, turning to
go, and fumbling at the same time for the pocket-book in which he kept
the notes.

The other gave a slight shrug.

'That's just as you please, Mr. Fenwick.'

'Well, here's fifty, anyway,' said Fenwick, drawing out a fifty-pound
note and laying it on the table.

'We are not in any hurry, I assure you.'

The young man stood looking at the artist, in an attitude of cool
indifference; but at the same time his hand secured the note, and
placed it safely in the drawer of the table between them.

He wrote a receipt, and handed it to Fenwick.

'Good-day,' said Fenwick, turning to go.

The other followed him, and as they stepped out into the
exhibition-rooms of the shop, hung in dark purple, Fenwick perceived
in the distance what looked like a fine Corot, and a Daubigny--and
paused.

'Got some good things, since I was here last?'

'Oh, we're always getting good things,' said his companion,
carelessly, without the small