She had succeeded wonderfully. Logan crumbled and turned soft and sugary under her arts, and only one impulse in him resisted her--his love for Mendel; and through that love his passion for art. Therefore she dreaded and hated Mendel's return. Presently she ceased to hum. She thought suddenly that perhaps it had been a mistake to meet Mendel with hostility. "I say, Kühler, do give us one of your cigarettes. These are awful muck." He threw his cigarette-case over to her. "Did you have a good time up North?" "Yes." "I come from there, you know. Logan was furious with you for going. He is really very fond of you, you know." "I don't need you to tell me that." "He's very excited just now. He keeps talking about the artistic revolution and the twentieth century, and all that, you know. He has been reading a book called 'John Christopher,' and keeps on reading it aloud until I'm sick of it. I believe he thinks he is like Christopher, though I'm sure he's not, because Christopher could never see a joke. It is all about women, one after another, just left anyhow. It doesn't sound like a story to me at all." "It sounds true," said Mendel, not paying much attention to what she said. To his intense relief Logan came in with a frame under his arm. "Hullo!" he said. "Got back? How did you like the swells?" "They were good people," replied Mendel, "and wonderfully peaceful. I don't think I appreciated it enough while I was there, but it seems very clear and beautiful to me now." "Portrait any good?" "No." Logan put down his frame and without a word to Oliver proceeded to wash up the tea-things. She stayed in her chair in the window and hummed. To Mendel his friend seemed altered. He had lost his good-humour and something of his happy recklessness, and he was more concentrated and full of a wary self-consciousness. He came out of the bedroom when the washing up was done and flung himself on the divan, stretched himself out, and said:-- "I'm tired; done up. Lord! What fools there are in the world! No more portraits for you, my boy; at least, not this side of thirty. Ten years good solid work ahead of you." He laughed. "I told Cluny he must hurry up or you would slide off into portrait-painting. Dealers hate the mere sound of the word. He is going to hurry up. I've played you for all I am worth, and Cluny is in my pocket. Oh! I'm a man of destiny, I am." A snort and a giggle came from Oliver. Logan sat up. "Leave the room!" he said. "Shan't." "Leave the room. I want to talk to Kühler." "Talk away then. I shan't listen." Logan walked over to her, seized her by the arms, and pushed her into the bedroom and locked the door. It was done very quickly and dexterously, as though it were a practised manoeuvre. "I'm finding out how to treat her," he said. "Quiet firmness does the trick." He met Mendel's eyes fixed on him in horrified inquiry and turned sharply away.