Later in the morning Margery strolled into the studio again, expecting to find him painting. He was drawing busily when she entered, and did not look up. The face which she had seen him draw at breakfast-time was gone, and some faintly indicated lines of another face had taken its place. Frank always drew with extreme care, but usually with great rapidity, and to her eyes he seemed to have done nothing since she had left him. "Well, how goes it?" she asked. "It goes slowly, but I am working very carefully," he said. He stood away from the portrait and let her see it. He had strengthened the outline since she had been in at breakfast, and sketched in the background. "Why, it's splendid!" she said. "That's exactly the way you loll on the edge of the table. Frank, it's awfully good. But why have you rubbed out the face?" Frank looked up. "Ah, yes; I rubbed it out directly after you left me, and made a sketch of what it was going to be like, and I forgot to put it in again. I'll do it now. There is a great deal of careful work about the hands, too." "What are you doing?" asked Margery, examining them. "It looks as if you were smoothing out a crumpled piece of paper." "Ah, you think that?" said Frank, absently. "I wondered if you would think I was crumpling a piece of paper up." "Oh no," said she, confidently; "you are smoothing it out. What does it mean? What's the paper--a programme or something?" "Yes, a programme or something." He emphasized the faint lines on the face, and again stood aside. "Look!" "Oh, Frank, that won't do at all. You look as if you were a convict or something horrible, or as if that piece of paper in your hands was an unpaid bill which you were trying not to pay." Frank laughed a little bitter laugh. "My drawing has been very successful," he said. Margery was still looking at the face. "It is horrible," she said. "Yet I don't see where it is wrong. It's very like you, somehow." She looked from the picture to her husband, and saw that his face was puzzled and anxious. "I see what it is," she said. "You've been worrying and growling over it till your face really began to look something like what you were drawing. Oh, Frank, you haven't had breakfast yet. Sit down and have it at once. It all comes of having no breakfast." "Is that all, do you think?" asked he. "Is that the face of a man who is only guilty of not eating his breakfast? It looks to me guilty, somehow." "Yes, that's why it's guilty. Your face is guilty, too. When you've eaten your breakfast and smoked that horrid little black pipe of yours, it won't look guilty any more." Frank was looking at what he had done with the air of a disinterested spectator. "It seems to me that that brute there has done something worse than not eat his breakfast," he said. "Nonsense. I'm going to get you some fresh tea because this is cold, and there's that sweet little cold grouse dying, so to speak, to be eaten. You begin on it while I get the tea."