The young lady and gentleman did not sit down, but walked about the room, the former examining its contents. The gentleman, who was palpably an officer in a cavalry regiment, neglected the Fine Arts, in favour of the lady, whom he may be said to have gloated over at a respectful distance. But he expressed himself to the effect that this was an awful lark, straining metaphor severely. The young lady, whose beauty had made Sairah's head reel, said, "Yes--it's fun," more temperately. But both looked blooming and optimistic, and ready to recognise awful larks and fun in almost any combination of circumstances. The first instinct of visitors to a Studio is to find some way of avoiding looking at the pictures. A good method towards success in this object is to lean back and peep over all the canvases with their faces to the wall, and examine all the sketch-books, in search of what really interests you so much more than finished work; to wit, the first ideas of the Artist, fresh from his brain--incomplete, of course, but full of an indefinable something. They are _himself_, you see! But they spoil your new gloves, and perhaps you are going on to Hurlingham. These young people were; and that, no doubt, was why the young lady went no further in her researches than to discover the rich grimy quality of the dirt they compelled her to wallow in. It repulsed her, and she had to fall back on the easels and their burdens. They glanced at "Diana and Actæon," unfinished, the Artist's _capo d'opera_ at this date, and appeared embarrassed for a moment, but conscious that something is still due to High Art. "Why don't you say the drawing's fine, or the tone, or something? You're not doing your duty, Jack." Thus spoke the young lady, who presently, to the relief of both, found an enthusiasm. "She's perfectly lovely! But is _she_ Mr. Malkin's work? She isn't--_she's our picture_! She's Early Italian." She clapped her hands and laughed with delight. Oh dear!--how pretty she looked, transfixed, as it were, with her lips apart opposite to the picture Sairah had been attending to! The young man took his eyes off her to glance at the picture, then put them back again. "I don't dislike 'em Early Italian," he said. But he wasn't paying proper attention; and, besides, Sairah's little essay towards picture-restoration had caught his passing glance. "What's all that woolly mess?" said he.