"Perhaps not," was the answer; "but I have seen her out of the theater. I dropped in at Forbes's studio the other day. He was finishing a bust of her, and she was giving him a sitting. It is a jolly good bust, but the woman--" "Is she pretty?" asked the other. "Upon my word, I don't know; what I do know is that I wanted to look at her all the time, and when she had gone life seemed to have left the studio." I did not know the speaker, but I did not lose sight of him until I had tracked him to a club in Piccadilly and discovered that his name was Tenfield, and that he was a partner in a firm of art dealers in Bond Street. When I repeated this conversation to Quarles he wondered why I had taken so much trouble over the art dealer. "Looking for a clue," I answered. Quarles shrugged his shoulders. "What did you think of the portrait?" "Frankly, not much." "But you got an impression of Madame Vatrotski's character." "I cannot say I got any great enlightenment. It made me wonder why she had made such a great reputation." "The fact that it made you wonder at all shows there is something in the portrait," said Quarles. "Let us argue indirectly from the picture. You will agree that the lady was fascinating, since she had so many admirers, but in the portrait you discern nothing to account for that fascination. We may conclude that the painter saw the real woman underneath the superficial charm. She could not hide herself from him as she did from others. Now in that portrait I see rather a commonplace woman, essentially bourgeoise and vulgar, not naturally artistic. I can imagine her the wife of a small shopkeeper, or a girl given to cheap finery on holidays. I think she would be capable of any meanness to obtain that finery. Her face shows a decided lack of talent, but it also shows tremendous greed. The critics have said that her dancing was a pose and not in good taste." I nodded.