She came, however, accompanied by Lala Roy, who had never been in a studio before, and indeed had never looked at a picture, except with the contemptuous glance which the philosopher bestows upon the follies of mankind. Yet he came, because Iris asked him. Arnold's studio is one of the smallest of those in Tite Street. Of course it is built of red brick, and of course it has a noble staircase and a beautiful painting-room or studio proper all set about with bits of tapestry, armor, pictures, and china, besides the tools and properties of the craft. He had portfolios full of sketches; against the wall stood pictures, finished and unfinished; on an easel was a half-painted picture representing a group taken from a modern novel. Most painters only draw scenes from two novels--the "Vicar of Wakefield" and "Don Quixote;" but Arnold knew more. The central figure was a girl, quite unfinished--in fact, barely sketched in. Iris looked at everything with the interest which belongs to the new and unexpected. Arnold began to show the pictures in the portfolios. There were sketches of peasant life in Norway and on the Continent; there were landscapes, quaint old houses, and castles; there were ships and ports; and there were heads--hundreds of heads. "I said you might be a great artist," said Iris. "I am sure now that you will be if you choose." "Thank you, Iris. It is the greatest compliment you could pay me." "And what is this?" she was before the easel on which stood the unfinished picture. "It is a scene from a novel. But I cannot get the principal face. None of the models are half good enough. I want a sweet face, a serious face, a face with deep, beautiful eyes. Iris"--it was a sudden impulse, an inspiration--"let me put your face there. Give me my first commission." She blushed deeply. All these drawings, the multitudinous faces and heads and figures in the portfolio were a revelation to her. And just at the very moment when she discovered that Arnold was one of those who worship beauty--a thing she had never before understood--he told her that her face was so beautiful that he must put in his picture. "Oh, Arnold," she said, "my face would be out of place in that picture." "Would it? Please sit down, and let me make a sketch." He seized his crayons and began rapidly. "What do you say, Lala Roy?" he asked by way of diversion. "The gifts of the understanding," said the Sage, "are the treasures of the Lord; and He appointeth to every one his portion." "Thank you," replied Arnold. "Very true and very apt, I'm sure. Iris, please, your face turned just a little. So. Ah, if I can but do some measure of justice to your eyes!"