Thus adjured, Towning recommenced his interrupted occupation, while his visitor stood by and scrutinised his labours. "You're making a fine thing of that," was the verdict. "The colour scheme is delightful--absolutely. That touch of blue just there--splendid! I say, what a splendid model you've got." Towning lowered his voice a trifle. "Yes, and that touch of blue was her suggestion, if you please. What do you think of that? Have you not seen her before--Evarne Stornway?" "Oh, is that who it is? Of course I've heard of her. Only last week some chap was in to see Geoff, and he fairly raved over her. By Jove, he wasn't far wrong either." "She's quite uncommon, isn't she? It's not often one finds a glorious shape like that, more's the pity. By the way, what's Geoff Danvers working at now?" "He's off to Venice at the end of March. He's going to paint abroad till next winter." "Lucky dog. It's all right to have plenty of money, isn't it?" "But there are not many who use it as Geoff does. Heaven knows what I should do without him, and now he is not going alone to Venice." "No?" "He's taking two young chaps, Melcarp and Thorpe, with him. It will be the time of their lives. They haven't got a spare penny piece between them, and could as easily have taken themselves to study in the moon as in Italy. Geoff is paying all their expenses, and making out that it's a favour on their part that they're coming. Vows he would die of dulness without company. Melcarp and Thorpe are half off their heads with excitement." "Lucky beggars. What will you do when he's gone?" "Oh, plod along in the studio as usual. I have got a fine idea for a picture, and I am hunting for a model. The subject is a couple of lines of Keates's 'Belle Dame sans Merci,' and I want a girl with reddish-golden hair and a palish face; gleaming eyes, deep set; and cruel red lips--all curves. Not a fine bouncing wench at all, but one of those weird, fascinating, fragile sort of women--you know what I mean." "But you surely don't expect to find exactly what you want?" "Scarcely. But if I could only get the right coloured hair with the pale face it would be something. To tell the truth, Towning," the young artist avowed, with a moment's outburst of confidence, "I haven't got as much imagination as an artist really wants. I don't get a clear vision of things in my mind; I just get a shadowy sort of notion. But unless I can have some degree of reality before me, very similar to my vague fancy--well, I am nowhere. My idea just dies away." "Paint portraits. There's more money in that than in anything else, you know." "Oh, that reminds me of a bit of real luck. When Lord Winborough returns to England in the autumn, he has promised to let me do a bust of him to exhibit. Splendid chance, isn't it? But I am awfully set on doing that 'Belle Dame' picture." "Perhaps Miss Stornway knows of a girl with red-gold hair and all the rest of it. By the way, it's time."