Arabian said nothing for a moment. He seemed to be thinking rather seriously, and presently his large eyes turned towards Miss Van Tuyn for an instant, almost, she thought, as if they wished to consult her, to read in her eyes something which might help him to a decision. She felt that the man was flattered by Garstin’s request, but she felt also that something--she did not know what--held him back from granting it. And again she wondered about him. What was he? She could not divine. She looked at him and felt that she was looking at a book not one of whose pages she could read. And yet she thought he had what is sometimes called an “open” face. There was nothing sly in the expression of his eyes. They met other eyes steadily, sometimes with a sort of frank audacity, sometimes with--apparently--an almost pleading wistfulness. Finally, as if coming to a conclusion as to what he considered it wise to do for the moment, Arabian said: “Excuse me, but are these pictures which I see portraits painted by you?” “Every one of them,” said Garstin, rather roughly and impatiently. “Will you allow me to look at them?” “They’re there to be looked at.” Again Arabian glanced at Miss Van Tuyn. She got up from the sofa quickly. “I will show Mr. Arabian the pictures,” she said. She had noticed the cloud lowering on Garstin’s face and knew that he was irritated by Arabian’s hesitation. As Garstin had once said to her he could be “sensitive,” although his manners were often rough, and his face was what is usually called a “hard” face. And he was quite unaccustomed to meet with any resistance, even with any hesitation, when he was disposed to paint anyone, man or woman. Besides, the fact of Arabian’s arrival at the studio had naturally led Garstin to expect compliance with his wish already expressed at the Cafe Royal. He was now obviously in a surly temper, and Miss Van Tuyn knew from experience that when resisted he was quite capable of an explosion. How, she wondered, would Arabian face an outburst from Garstin? She could not tell. But she thought it wise if possible to avoid anything disagreeable. So she came forward smiling. “That will be very kind,” said Arabian, in his soft and warm voice, and with his marked but charming foreign accent. “I am not expert in these matters.” Garstin pushed up his lips in a sort of sneer. Miss Van Tuyn sent him a look, and for once he heeded a wish of hers. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he said. “Have a good stare at my stuff, and if you don’t like it--why, damn it, you’re free to say so.” Miss Van Tuyn’s look had sent him away down the stairs to the ground floor studio. Arabian had not missed her message, but he was apparently quite impassive, and did not show that he had noticed the painter’s ill humour. For the first time Miss Van Tuyn was quite alone with the living bronze. “Do you know much about pictures?” she asked him.