She was very sad when Kate had gone, and in the great reading-room such a rush of loneliness came over her that she had but little heart for work. She fell to thinking of Canterton, and of the work they had done together, and the thought of Hugh Massinger and that flat of his in Purbeck Street made her feel that life had cheapened and deteriorated. There was something unwholesome about the man and his art. It humiliated her to think that sincerity had thrust this meaner career upon her. Punctually at two o’clock she rang the bell of the flat in Purbeck Street. Adolf admitted her. She disliked Adolf’s smile. It was a recent development, and it struck her as being latently offensive. Hugh Massinger was curled up on the lounge, reading one of Shaw’s plays. He loathed Shaw, but read him as a dog worries something that it particularly detests. He sat up, his moonish eyes smiling, and Eve realised for the first time that his eyes and Adolf’s were somewhat alike. She sat down at the table, and began to arrange her notebooks. “You look _triste_ to-day.” “Do I?” “I am growing very understanding towards your moods.” She caught the challenge on the shield of a casual composure. “I lost a friend this morning.” “Not by death?” “Oh, no! She has gone abroad. One does not like losing the only friend one has in London.” He leaned forward with a gesture of protest. “Now you have hurt me.” “Hurt you, Mr. Massinger!” “I thought that I was becoming something of a friend.” She made herself look at him with frank, calm eyes. “It had not occurred to me. I really am very much obliged to you. Shall I begin to read out my notes?” He did not answer for a moment, but remained looking at her with sentimental solemnity. “My dear lady, you will not put me off like that. I am much too sympathetic to be repulsed so easily. I don’t like to see you sad. Adolf shall make coffee, and we will give up work this afternoon and chatter. You shall discover a friend——” She said, very quietly: “I would rather work, Mr. Massinger. Work is very soothing.” * * * * * CHAPTER XXVII THE BOURGEOIS OF CLARENDON ROAD Mrs. Buss had surrendered at last to Eve’s persuasions, and a jobbing carpenter had erected a section-built shed in the back garden at Bosnia Road. The shed had a corrugated iron roof, and Mrs. Buss had stipulated that the roof should be painted a dull red, so that it might “tone” with the red brick houses. The studio was lined with matchboarding, had a skylight in the roof, and was fitted with an anthracite stove. The whole affair cost Eve about twenty-five pounds, with an additional two shillings added to the weekly rent of her rooms. She paid for the studio out of the money she had received from the sale of the furniture at Orchards Corner, and her capital had now dwindled to about forty-five pounds.