"I'm on that now," he said carelessly, during one of my rests. He was pointing to a canvas, which leaned--face inwards--against the wall. I walked across the studio, and turned it round. A girl's picture. A girl in a flowered dress and a shady hat, her slight shining legs crossed at the knee. Sitting square in the high-backed chair, he was painting her, one small hand on each of its rosewood arms. The face was most of all unfinished. "You've got those legs well," said I, "And I like the dress. She looks rather lovely, as far as one can tell without seeing the face." George laughed. "She's all right," he said. At the end of my second sitting George picked up a knife and began deliberately to scrape out all the work he had done that morning. I watched him, petrified with horror. "Sorry, old chap," he said, smiling. "Stop," I cried. "I like that curve of the nostril. It denotes the force of character which has made me what I am." George went on ruthlessly. "I want it to be good of you," he said simply. Half way through my third sitting George gave a cry and flung off his coat. "What's the matter?" said I. "Something biting--? "Talk, man," he said, seizing his palette. "Just talk. Don't mind how I answer. I'm going to paint. By Jove, how I'm going to paint!" Clearly the fit was upon him. These artists! Not daring to disobey, I talked and talked. Heaven knows what I said. After an hour my tongue clove to the roof of my mouth, but I talked on. And all the time George alternately bent his brows upon me, and hung himself at the canvas, uttering strange, smothered cries and oaths, but painting, painting.... At a quarter past two he laid down his palette and cried to me to descend. Stiffly I did so. For a long moment I looked at the portrait. Then I turned to George and clapped him on the back. "I think you're going to make a name," said I. "That's right," he said. "And now give me a cigarette." Before we went to lunch, he showed me the picture of the girl. It was almost finished. Such a fine, brave face. Not a bit pretty--just beautiful. Dark hair showing under the brim of the hat, steady brown eyes, the mouth exquisite... That was three days ago. And now--pleasedly I regarded the original. "May I offer you a cigarette?" I said. When I had lighted it for her: "To-day is Thursday, isn't it?" she said. "That's just what I was going to say." "Yes, I'm sure it is, because last night brother left--" "The light on in the kitchen garden, with the result that this morning all the cocks were two hours fast. I know. But of course it is. Hasn't Thursday always been my lucky day?" She blew out a little cloud of smoke and smiled at it. Then: "I don't know you at all, you know," she said gravely, "and Aunt Prudence always used to say--"