"He is a connoisseur," put in Lightmark gaily. "It's an accident that he happens to be connected with shipping--a fortunate one, though, for he owns a most picturesque old shanty in the far East. But actually he does not know a rudder post from a jib-boom." "I suppose you have been painting it?" said Oswyn shortly. Lightmark nodded. "I have been painting the river from his wharf. The picture is just finished, and on the whole I am pleased with it. You should come in and give it a look, Oswyn, some time. You haven't seen my new studio." "I never go west of Regent Street," said Oswyn brusquely. Lightmark laughed a little nervously. "Oswyn doesn't believe in me, you know, Philip," he explained lightly. "It is a humiliating thing to have to say, but I may as well say it, to save him the trouble. He is so infernally frank about it, you know. He thinks that I am a humbug, that I don't take my art seriously, and because, when I have painted my picture, I begin to think about the pieces of silver, he is not quite sure that I may not be a descendant of Judas. And then, worst of all, I have committed the unpardonable sin: I have been hung at Burlington House. Isn't that about it, Oswyn?" The elder man laughed his low, mirthless laugh. "We understand each other, Dick; but you don't quite do yourself justice--or me. I have an immense respect for your talent. I feel sure you will achieve greatness--in Burlington House." "Well, it's a respectable institution," said the young man soberly. Oswyn finished his drink at a long, thirsty gulp, watching the young man askance with his impressive eyes. Rainham noticed for the first time that he had a curious trick of smiling with his lips only--or was it of sneering?--while the upper part of his face and his heavy brows frowned. "By the way, Lightmark," he observed presently, "I have to congratulate you on your renown. There is quite a long panegyric on your picture in the _Outcry_ this week. Do you know who wrote it?" "Damn it, man!" broke out Lightmark, with a vehemence which, to Rainham, seemed uncalled for, "how should I know? I haven't seen the rag for an age." There was an angry light in his eyes, but it faded immediately. Oswyn continued apologetically: "I beg your pardon. It must be very annoying to you to be puffed indiscreetly. But I fancied, you know----" Lightmark, flushing a little, interrupted him, laying his hand with a quick gesture, that might have contained an appeal in it, on the painter's frayed coat-sleeve. "Your glass is empty, and we are about ready for our coffee. What will you take?"