“It’s all right,” she said. “But--you see my mourning! I am in deep mourning, and I ought not--” She stopped. She felt the uselessness of her protest, the ungraciousness of her demeanour. Without another word she went to the sofa by one of the windows and sat down. He came and sat down beside her. “I want you to help me about Dick Garstin,” he said. “How? What can I do? I have no influence with him.” “Oh, yes, you have. A lady like you has always influence with a man.” “Not with him.” “But I say you have.” “What do you want me to do?” “I want you to tell him what I have said to you to-day.” “That you won’t have the picture exhibited?” “Yes.” “He’ll only laugh.” “Beg him for your sake to yield.” “But what have I to do with it?” “Very much, I think. It will be better that he yields--really.” She raised her eyes to his. “We do not want a scandal, do we?” “But--” “If it should come to a fight between Dick Garstin and me there might be a scandal.” “But my name wouldn’t--” Again she was silent. “I might try. But it wouldn’t be any use.” He put out a hand and took one of hers. “But it all came through you. Didn’t it?” “But--but you said you had never seen Dick Garstin till he came up and asked you to sit to him.” “That was not true. I saw him with you that night at the Cafe Royal. That is why I came to the studio. I knew I should meet you there. And--you knew.” Again the terribly shrewd glance came into his eyes. She saw it and felt no strength for denial. From the first he must have thoroughly understood her. “You and I, we are not babies,” he said gently. “We wanted to know each other, and so it happened. I have done all this for you. Now I ask you to tell Dick Garstin for me.” “I’ll do what I can,” she said. He pressed her hand softly. “You are not one of those who are afraid,” he said. “You do what you choose--even at night.” She thought of the episode in Shaftesbury Avenue. “Then you--you--” “But I do not need to take a shilling from a lady!” “You didn’t know me that night!” she said defiantly. “Ah, but when I heard you speak in the studio I knew!” “And you follow women like that at night!” She tried to draw away her hand, but he would not let her. “You drew me after you--not knowing. It was what they call occult.” “Then why did you go away?” “I felt that I had been wrong, that you didn’t wish me to speak to you.” “Do you mean when I--that you suspected what I was?” “Something said to me, ‘This is a lady. She does strange things, she is not like others, but she is a lady. Go away.’” “And in the studio--” “When you spoke I knew.” She felt degraded. She could not explain. And she felt confused. She did not understand this man. His curious reticence that night, after his audacity, was inexplicable to her. What could he think of her? What must he think?