“Just because you want me to pick hum up and then introduce him to you. I don’t paint for reasons of that kind.” “Have you ever seen him before to-night?” “Yes. I saw him last night.” “For the first time?” “Yes.” “At the Cafe Royal?” “Yes.” “What do you think he is?” “Probably a successful blackmailer.” For some obscure reason Miss Van Tuyn felt outraged by this opinion of Garstin. “The fact is,” she said, but in quite an impersonal voice, “that your mind is getting warped by living always among the scum of London, and by studying and painting only the scum. It really is a great pity. A painter ought to be a man of the world, not a man of the underworld.” “And the _a propos_ of all this?” asked Garstin “You are beginning to see the morphia maniac, the drunkard, the cocaine fiend, the prostitute, the--” “Blackmailer?” “Yes, the blackmailer, if you like, in everyone you meet. You live in a sort of bad dream, Dick. You paint in a bad dream. If you go on like this you will lose all sense of the true values.” “But I honestly do believe the man you want me to pick up and then introduce to you to be a successful blackmailer.” “Why? Do you know anything about him?” “Absolutely nothing.” “Then your supposition about him is absurd and rather disgusting.” “It isn’t a supposition.” “What is it then?” “Perhaps you don’t realize, my girl, that I’m highly sensitive.” “You seldom seem so. But, of course, I realize that you couldn’t paint as you do unless you were.” “Instead of using the word supposition in connexion with a fellow like myself your discrimination should have led you to choose the word instinct.” “Oh?” “Let’s cross over. Catch on!” They crossed to the side of the road next to Hyde Park. “My instinct tells me that the magnificently handsome man who stared at you to-night is of the tribe that lives by making those who are indiscreetly susceptible to beauty pay heavy tribute, in hard cash or its equivalent. He is probably a king in the underworld. Perhaps I really will paint him. No, I’m not coming in.” He left her on the doorstep of the hotel and tramped off towards Chelsea. CHAPTER II