They turned away to the next picture; but Markham, who had been observing the girl's face, and had noticed that little shudder come over her, felt strangely interested in the painting, whatever it might be, that had produced such an impression upon her. He determined to go unobserved over to the window where the work was hanging so soon as everyone would have left it. 'It requires real cleverness to compose such a story as that of Mr. Glaston's,' said Lottie Vincent to Mr. Harwood. 'It sounded to me all along like a clever bit of satire, and I daresay it was told to him as such,' said Harwood. 'It only needed him to complete the nonsense by introducing another of the fine arts in the working out of that wonderfully volatile expression.' 'Which is that?' said Lottie; 'do tell me, like a good fellow,' and she laid the persuasive finger of a four-buttoned glove upon his arm. 'Certainly. I will finish the story for you,' said Harwood, giving the least little imitation of the lordly manner of Mr. Glaston. 'Yes, my friend the painter sent a telegram to me a few years after I had performed that impromptu, and I was by his side in an hour. I found him at least twenty years older in appearance, and he was searching with a lighted candle in every corner of the studio for that expression of passion which had once more disappeared. What could I do? I had exhausted the auxiliaries of poetry and music, but fortunately another art remained to me; you have heard of the poetry of motion? In an instant I had mounted the table and had gone through a breakdown of the most æsthetic design, when I saw his face lighten--his grey hairs turned once more to black--long artistic oily black. “I have found it,” he cried, seizing the hearthbrush and dipping it into the paint just as I completed the final attitude: it was found--but--what is the matter, Miss Vincent?' 'Look!' she whispered. 'Look at Mr. Markham.' 'Good heavens!' cried Harwood, starting up, 'is he going to fall? No, he has steadied himself by the window. I thought he was beside us.' 'He went over to the picture a second ago, and I saw that pallor come over him,' said Lottie. Harwood hastened to where Oswin Markham was standing, his white face turned away from the picture, and his hand clutching the rail of a curtain. 'What is the matter, Markham?' said Harwood quietly. 'Are you faint?' Markham turned his eyes upon him with a startled expression, and a smile that was not a smile came upon his face. 'Faint? yes,' he said. 'This room after the air. I'll be all right. Don't make a scene, for God's sake.' 'There is no need,' said Harwood. 'Sit down here, and I'll get you a glass of brandy.' 'Not here,' said Markham, giving the least little side glance towards the picture. 'Not here, but at the open window.'