He tore himself away as if he were loth to leave the woman who sat there sewing. He went to the price list which the Academicians keep in the lobby. He turned the leaves. The picture was unsold. The artist had appraised it at a modest figure. Mr. Gibbs bought it there and then. Then he turned to his catalogue to discover the artist's address. Mr. Bodenham lived in Manresa Road, Chelsea. Not many minutes after a cab drove up to the Manresa Studios. Mr. Gibbs knocked at a door on the panels of which was inscribed Mr. Bodenham's name. "Come in!" cried a voice. Mr. Gibbs entered. An artist stood at his easel. "Mr. Bodenham?" "I am Mr. Bodenham." "I am Mr. Gibbs. I have just purchased your picture at the Academy, 'Stitch! Stitch! Stitch!'" Mr. Bodenham bowed. "I--I wish to make a--a few inquiries about--about the picture." Mr. Gibbs was as nervous as a schoolboy. He stammered and he blushed. The artist seemed to be amused. He smiled. "You wish to make a few inquiries about the picture--yes?" "About the--about the subject of the picture. That is, about--about the model." Mr. Gibbs became a peony red. The artist's smile grew more pronounced. "About the model?" "Yes, about the model. Where does she live?" Although the day was comparatively cool, Mr. Gibbs was so hot that it became necessary for him to take out his handkerchief to wipe his brow. Mr. Bodenham was a sunny-faced young man. He looked at his visitor with laughter in his eyes. "You are aware, Mr. Gibbs, that yours is rather an unusual question. I have not the pleasure of your acquaintance, and we artists are not in the habit of giving information about our models to perfect strangers. It would not do. Moreover, how do you know that I painted from a model? The faces in pictures are sometimes creations of the artist's imagination. Perhaps oftener than the public think." "I know the model in 'Stitch! Stitch! Stitch!'" "You know her? Then why do you come to me for information?" "I should have said that I knew her years ago." Mr. Gibbs looked round the room a little doubtfully. Then he laid his hand on the back of a chair, as if for the support, moral and physical, which it afforded him. He looked at the artist with his big, grave eyes. "As I say, Mr. Bodenham, I knew her years ago--and I loved her." There was a catch in his voice. The artist seemed to be growing more and more amused. Mr. Gibbs went on: "I was a younger man then. She was but a girl. We both of us were poor. We loved each other dearly. We agreed that I should go abroad and make my fortune. When I had made it, I was to come back to her."