Garstin talked about London, which Arabian apparently knew fairly well, though he said he had never lived long in London; then about Paris, which Arabian also knew and spoke of like a man who visited it now and then for purposes of pleasure. Then Garstin spoke of the art he followed, of the old Italian painters and of the Galleries of Italy. Arabian became very quiet. His attitude and bearing were those of one almost respectfully listening to an expert holding forth on a subject he had made his own. Now and then he said something non-committal. There was no evidence that he had any knowledge of Italian pictures, that he could distinguish between a Giovanni Bellini and a Raphael, tell a Luini from a Titian. Miss Van Tuyn wondered again whether he had ever heard of Leonardo. Garstin mentioned some Paris painters of the past, but of more recent times than those of the grand old Italians, spoke of Courbet, of Manet, of Renoir, Guilaumin, Sisley, the Barbizon school, Cezanne and his followers. Finally he came to the greatest of the French Impressionist painters, to Pissaro, for whom, as Miss Van Tuyn knew, he had an admiration which amounted almost to a cult. “He’s a glorious fellow, isn’t he?” he said in his loud bass voice to Arabian. “You know his ‘Pont Neuf,’ of course?” He did not wait for an answer, but drove on with immense energy, puffing away at his cigar and turning his small, keen eyes swiftly from Arabian to Miss Van Tuyn and back again. The talk, which was now a monologue, fed by frequent draughts of the excellent whisky, included a dissertation on Pissaro’s oil paintings, his water-colours, his etchings and lithographs, his pupils, Cezanne, Van Gogh and Gauguin, his friendships, his troubles, and finally a paean on his desperate love of work, which was evidently shared by the speaker. “Work--it’s _the_ thing in life!” roared Garstin. “It’s the great consolation for all the damnableness of the human existence. Work first and the love of women second!” “Thank you very much for your chivalry, Dick,” said Miss Van Tuyn, sending one of her most charming blue glances to the living bronze, who returned it, almost eagerly, she thought. “And the love of women betrays,” continued Garstin. “But work never lets you down.” He flung out his right arm and quoted sonorously from Pissaro: “I paint portraits because doing it helps me to live!” he almost shouted. “Another cigar!” He turned to Arabian. “Thank you. They are beauties and not too strong.” “You’ve got a damned strong constitution if you can say that. You have been like me; you have fortified it by work.” “I fear not,” he said with a smile. “I have been a flaneur, an idler. It has been my great misfortune to have enough money for what I want without working.” “Like poor me!” said Miss Van Tuyn, feeling suddenly relieved. “I pity you both!” said Garstin.