And so Logan had left Oliver! There must have been a terrible row. . . . Oh, well, he would go back to her. There would be no end to the affair, there could be no end unless Logan were strong enough to stand by himself. But when had he ever tried to do that? Even in his work he borrowed here and there. Mendel was sure now that all Logan's work had grown out of his own, and was often, by some amazing sleight of mind, an anticipation of his own ideas. That explained a good deal: his growing sense that Logan was really his enemy, and was cramping and thwarting him, a sense that endured even after the quarrel. It was strong upon him now. Tysoe had brought Logan vividly to his mind and made him feel impotent, possessed by a vision of art but unable to move a step towards it, rather dragged further and further away from it. He was ashamed when he thought of how often he had excitedly followed Logan's lead, only to come now to this discovery that he was brought back to his own inchoate ideas. . . . He was reminded oddly of the journalist who had interviewed him after his first success and had produced so grotesque a parody of his innocently conceited remarks. A tap at the door reminded him of the "two young ladies" who were waiting to see him. He rushed eagerly to the door and flung it open, thinking to find healing and refreshment in the sight of Morrison. Only Clowes was standing there, and in his disappointment her face seemed to him so foolish and flabby and idiotic that his impulse was to shut the door. . . . He would bang the door in her face and it would shut out the Christian world for ever. It did not want him, and he did not want it, for it was full of lies. . . . Then he heard a footstep on the stairs and Morrison appeared. "Come in," he said. "Come in." "I can't stay long," said Clowes nervously. "All right," he replied. Morrison reached the top of the stairs, and he stood looking at her. "How are you?" "I'm very well." She was horrified at the change in him. He looked so tragic and drawn. "Clowes can't stop long," she said. "But I'll stop, if I may. I should like to." "I'm afraid I haven't got anything to show you. I haven't been working lately." "It seems to be a pretty general complaint," said Clowes. "Everybody is so upset by the French pictures. I should like to shake that Thompson until his teeth rattled. He is so pleased with himself." "He's an awful man," muttered Mendel. "He seems to think he told Cézanne and Van Gogh how to do it. There seems to be a whole army of men ready to take the credit of a thing when someone else has done it. I suppose they are all talking like mad." "What is so astonishing is that these things are actually selling, and people who never sold a picture in their lives dab a few straight lines on a picture and off it goes." Mendel laughed.