“Oh, for heaven’s sake let us talk of something else!” said Miss Van Tuyn, with an almost passionate note of exasperation. “You bore me, bore me, bore me with this man! He seems becoming an obsession with you. Paint him, for God’s sake, and then let there be an end of him as far as we are concerned. There are lots of other men better-looking than he is. But once you have taken an idea into your head there is no peace until you have worked it out on canvas. Genius it may be, but it’s terribly tiresome to everyone about you. Paint the man--and then let him sink back into the depths!” “Like a sea monster, eh?” “He is horrible. I always knew it.” “Come, now! You told me--” “It doesn’t matter what I told you. He is horrible.” “What! Just because he comes out to dine with a pretty girl of a certain class? I had no idea you were such a Puritan. Raoul!” “M’sieu!” Garstin was evidently enjoying himself. “I know those women! Arabian’s catching it like the devil in Conduit Street. She’s giving him something he’ll remember.” “No!” said Miss Van Tuyn, with hard emphasis. “What d’you mean?” “I mean that Arabian is the sort of man who can frighten women. Now if you don’t talk of something else I shall leave you here alone. Another word on that subject and I go!” “Tell me, Beryl. What do you really think of Wyndham Lewis? You know his portrait of Ezra Pound?” “Of course I do.” “Don’t you think it’s a masterpiece?” “Do you? I can never get at your real ideas about modern painting.” “And I thought I wore them all down in my own pictures.” “You certainly don’t sit on the fence when you paint.” And then they talked pictures. Perhaps Garstin at that moment for once laid himself out to be charming. He could fascinate Miss Van Tuyn’s mind when he chose. She respected his brain. It could lure her. As a worker she secretly almost loved Garstin, and she believed that the world would remember him when he was gone to the shadows and the dust. Two champagne bottles had been emptied when they got up to go. The little room was deserted and had a look of being settled in for the night. Raoul took his tip and yawned behind his big yellow hand. As Miss Van Tuyn was about to leave the restaurant he bent down to the floor and picked up a paper which had fallen against the wall near her seat. “Madame--” he began. Miss Van Tuyn, who was on her way to the door, did not hear him, and Garstin swiftly and softly took the paper and slipped it into the pocket of his overcoat. When he had said good-bye to Beryl he went back to Glebe Place. He mounted the stairs to the studio on the first floor, turned on the lights, went to the Spanish cabinet, poured himself out a drink, lit one of the black cigars, then sat down in a worn arm-chair, put his feet on the sofa, and unfolded _The Westminster Gazette_. What had she been reading so intently? What was it in the paper that had got on her nerves?