Certainly life is very unsatisfactory, and it must be maddening for artists, maddening, though of course it should drive them on to make a mighty effort. We are all looking to the artists nowadays, especially since that wonderful exhibition." "Yes, yes," said Mendel impatiently; "but what about Logan?" "He told me you had quarrelled with him. Such a pity! Dear me! dear me! You were such a splendid pair, so sincere. He said it was irrevocable. But, you know, 'The falling out of faithful friends renewing is of love.' Have you read the Oxford 'Book of Verse'? A storehouse of poetry. . . . I came to see you for that reason. Quarrels ought not to be irrevocable. . . . I have been to see Oliver too. Poor girl! poor girl! I am keeping their little nest at Hampstead for them. . . . I told Logan he ought to marry her. Of course, I know, artists have their own view on that subject, but there is a great deal to be said for marriage. Most people are married, you know, and a woman who is not married must feel out of it. Nothing to do with morality, of course, but you know what women are. They can't bear even their clothes to be different, and, after all, marriage is only a garment which we wear for decency's sake." "But where is Logan?" "That I don't know," said Tysoe. "Oliver said he would be here. She said it was your fault that they had quarrelled. . . . Poor girl! So pretty too! . . . I thought if you made it up with Logan, then he could make it up with her and we should all be happy again. We might have a nice little dinner of reconciliation at my house." "It is no use, no use whatever," said Mendel. "Logan might go back to her, but he will never come back to me. We have gone different ways, not only in life, but in our work." "You won't make it up?" asked Tysoe plaintively. "No," answered Mendel. "I should like to, but it is impossible. It is very good of you to try to intervene. Logan was my friend. He is no longer the same man. He is altered, he is changed, he is done for." "Nothing could ruin a man like that. It is disastrous, it is terrible that he should lose his friend and the girl he loves at one stroke. Kühler, I implore you, I entreat you, if he comes to see you, you will not refuse him." "If he comes I will see him, certainly," said Mendel. "Ah! That is all I want," said Tysoe, beaming hopefully. "But he will not come." "We shall find a way. We shall find a way. . . . Ah! superb!" he added, catching sight of Mendel's green-faced _Mother._ "Ah! The new spirit at work in your art. Colour! What you have always wanted! . . . How--how much?" "Ten pounds," said Mendel. "May I take it with me? I will send you my cheque." Mendel wrapped the picture up in brown paper and gave it him, told him he must go, thanked him for his kindness, and with unutterable relief watched him go shambling down the stairs. * * * * *