Mendel took Thompson round to his hotel and up to Logan's room, where, entering without knocking, they found Logan kneeling on the floor with Oliver in a swoon in his arms. He had opened her blouse at the neck and unlaced her corsage. Mendel thought Oliver looked as though she was going to die, and his first idea was to run for the doctor. "She'll come round," said Logan. "It's my fault. I was brutal to her. . . ." He nodded to Thompson. "How do you do?" and he covered up Oliver's large bosom. She came to in a few moments, opened her eyes slowly, rolled them round, and came back to Logan, on whom she fixed a gaze of devouring love. She put up her arms and drew his head down and kissed his lips. Mendel drew Thompson out into the corridor. "She was shamming," he said. "I don't think so," replied Thompson. "What has happened? Does he knock her about?" "Not that I know of. They've not been together very long. They can't settle down." "She's a fine woman," said Thompson. * * * * * They were called in again and found Oliver sitting up on the bed eating chocolates. She greeted Thompson with a queenly gesture, and clapped her hands when Mendel told her they were going out to see the sights. "I'm sick of artists," she said. "I have quite enough of them in London. I wish to God you weren't an artist, Logan. You'd be quite a nice man if you worked for your living." "Don't talk rubbish," mumbled Logan, who was subdued and curiously ashamed of himself. "If I were like that I should have a little dried-up wife and an enormous family, and you wouldn't have a look in." "And a good job too!" cried Oliver, in her most provoking tone. "A good job too! I'd find someone who had a respect for me." "D'you find Paris a good place to work in?" Logan turned to Thompson. "I never knew the meaning of work till I came here. Ever heard of Rousseau?" "Oh, yes," said Logan. "I don't mean the writer, I mean . . ." "I know, I know," said Logan nonchalantly. He could never admit ignorance of anything. "A great painter," cried Thompson eagerly. "A very great painter. I tell you he brought Impressionism up sharp. They had overshot the mark, you know. Manet, Monet: they had overshot the mark." Oliver began to scream at the top of her voice. "Shut up!" said Logan. "You'll have us turned out." "I don't care," she replied. "I don't care. I can't stand all this talk about painting." "What do you want us to talk about?" said Mendel, tingling with exasperation. "Love? Three men and one woman can't talk about love." "Well, I didn't come to Paris to sit in a dirty bedroom talking about pictures. I want to go out to see the streets and the shops and the funny people." "For God's sake take us somewhere," said Logan. * * * * * Thompson, having ascertained that they had plenty of money, took them to Enghien by the river. Oliver was happy at once. She wanted to be amused and to be looked at, and as she was bouncing and rowdy she had her desire.