Tearing off her painting overall she went through to her bedroom where she slipped on a frock of red-brick crêpe-de-chine that stole the colour from her cheeks and dulled her hair to brown. She caught sight of herself in the mirror and told herself defiantly that at times Helen Guest could look very plain, but when she had put on a dark coat, and a small dark hat, she carefully arranged her hair in an exact semi-circle on either cheek and brushed a little rouge over her cheek bones. The studio seemed unfriendly as she went through; the ashes were cold in the grate, the sun lit up a layer of soft dust over the furniture, a curtain had torn away from one of its rings and drooped a little. Helen decided impatiently that when she had finally broken with Geoffrey it would probably be better to go home for a time, and shut up the studio. A few weeks in Lowndes Square would effectively drive her to work again. In the meantime, I'll go and see Lavinia, she decided; she's a soothing little thing, and the sight of her house all so smug and correct will reinforce me against Geoffrey. It's the sort of house and life I'd fall into if I were such a fool as to marry him. She shrugged at her own weakness in needing reinforcements and set out briskly for Lavinia's house in Catherine Street. It happened that Mrs. Rodney Greene was having tea with her daughter when Helen was announced. Lavinia greeted Helen affectionately, and turned to her mother. "I don't think you've met Helen, Mother dear," she said. "Unless perhaps for a moment at the wedding, but that hardly counts." "No, I don't think I have," answered Mrs. Rodney. "But I know you're a relation of Martin's, Miss Guest. I've often heard both him and Lavinia talking of your work. You paint, don't you?" Her voice was pleasant, but her eye raked Helen from her long legs to the jaunty little hat that covered her eyebrows and it registered unmistakable disapproval. "I've just finished a thing to-day, but I feel I'll never paint again," said Helen, and though her voice was low there was a violence behind the words that struck unpleasantly on Mrs. Rodney's ears. "Oh, but surely you won't give up like that," she began persuasively. "Of course I can understand artistic discouragement; the finished work falling so far short of the ideal"--she sketched a vague gesture in the air--"But still I'm sure you should persevere." She looked brightly and expectantly at Helen but her glib words of consolation fell on a grim silence. Helen lay back wearily in her chair hardly seeming to hear what was said, and it was Lavinia who answered rather awkwardly: "Helen paints beautifully, Mother. She did a picture of some ponies a little while ago that you would simply love."