ale_

The machine was one of those electric contrivances that do their work
noiselessly and efficiently, like a garrotter or the guillotine. No
odour, no teeth-disturbing grind of rack-and-pinion, no trumpeting, with
that machine! It arrived before the gate with such absence of sound that
Alice, though she was dusting in the front-room, did not hear it. She
heard nothing till the bell discreetly tinkled. Justifiably assuming
that the tinkler was the butcher's boy, she went to the door with her
apron on, and even with the duster in her hand. A handsome, smooth man
stood on the step, and the electric carriage made a background for him.
He was a dark man, with curly black hair, and a moustache to match, and
black eyes. His silk hat, of an incredible smooth newness, glittered
over his glittering hair and eyes. His overcoat was lined with astrakan,
and this important fact was casually betrayed at the lapels and at the
sleeves. He wore a black silk necktie, with a small pearl pin in the
mathematical centre of the perfect rhomboid of the upper part of a
sailor's knot. His gloves were of slate colour. The chief characteristic
of his faintly striped trousers was the crease, which seemed more than
mortal. His boots were of _glace_ kid and as smooth as his cheeks. The
cheeks had a fresh boyish colour, and between them, over admirable snowy
teeth, projected the hooked key to this temperament. It _is_ possible
that Alice, from sheer thoughtlessness, shared the vulgar prejudice
against Jews; but certainly she did not now feel it. The man's personal
charm, his exceeding niceness, had always conquered that prejudice,
whenever encountered. Moreover, he was only about thirty-five in years,
and no such costly and beautiful male had ever yet stood on Alice's
doorstep.

She at once, in her mind, contrasted him with the curates of the
previous week, to the disadvantage of the Established Church. She did
not know that this man was more dangerous than a thousand curates.

"Is this Mr. Leek's?" he inquired smilingly, and raised his hat.

"Yes," said Alice with a responsive smile.

"Is he in?"

"Well," said Alice, "he's busy at his work. You see in this weather he
can't go out much--not to work--and so he--"

"Could I see him in his studio?" asked the glossy man, with the air of
saying, "Can you grant me this supreme favour?"

It was the first time that Alice had heard the attic called a studio.
She paused.

"It's about pictures," e