"That is Trinidad Wharf, Bullen, certainly! And those masts are from the ships in the Commercial Docks. But the river, the atmosphere--that's the point--how do they strike you?" "Well, it's beautiful, sir," remarked Bullen cordially; "painted like the life, you may say. But isn't it just a little smudgy, sir?" "That's the beauty of it, Bullen. It's impressionism, you Philistine!--a sort of modified impressionism, you know, to suit the hangers. 'Gad, Bullen, you ought to be a hanger yourself! Bullen, my dear man, if it wasn't that you _do_ know how to paint a ship's side, I would even go so far as to say that you have all the qualifications of an Academician." "Ah, if it comes to that, Mr. Lightmark, I dare say I could put them up to some dodges. I am a judge of 'composition.'" "Composition? The devil you are! Ah, you mean that infernal compound which they cover ships' bottoms with? What an atrocious pun!" The man looked puzzled. "Bullen, R.A., great at composition; it sounds well," continued Lightmark gaily, just touching in the brown sail of a barge. "I've a nephew in the Royal Artillery, sir," said Mr. Bullen; "but I fear he is a bad lot." "Oh, they all are!" said Lightmark, "an abandoned crew." His eyes wandered off to the bridge over which the road ran, dividing the dry dock from the outer basin and wharf on which they stood. A bevy of factory girls in extensive hats stuck with brilliant Whitechapel feathers were passing; one of them, who was pretty, caught Lightmark's eyes and flung him a saucy compliment, which he returned with light badinage in kind that made the foreman grin. "They know a fine man when they see one, as well as my lady," he said. Then he added, as if by an afterthought, lowering his voice a little: "By the way, Mr. Lightmark, there was a young lady--a young person here yesterday--making inquiries." Lightmark bent down, frowning a little at a fly which had entangled itself on his palette. "Yes?" he remarked tentatively, when the offender had been removed. "It was a young lady come after someone, who, she said, had been here lately: a Mr. Dighton or Crichton was the name, I think. It was the dockman she asked." "Nobody comes here of that name that I know of," said Lightmark. "Not to my knowledge," said Bullen. "Curious!" remarked Lightmark gravely. "Very, sir!" said Bullen, with equal gravity. Lightmark looked up abruptly: the two men's eyes met, and they both laughed, the artist a little nervously. "What did you tell her, Bullen?" "No such person known here, sir. I sent her away as wise as she came. I hold with minding my own business, and asking no questions." "An excellent maxim, Bullen!" said Lightmark, preparing to pack up his easel. "I have long believed you to be a man of discretion. Well, I must even be moving." "You know the governor is back, sir?" Lightmark dropped the paint-brush he was cleaning, with a movement of genuine surprise.