Seen in his own chosen setting, he was the most magnificent person I had met. Aestheticism of a pronounced sort was becoming the fashion of the day in London; and, as I presently found, Mr. Rawlence followed the fashions of London and Paris closely. Indeed, I gathered that at one time he had settled down, determined to live and to end his days in one or other of those Old World capitals. But after a year divided between them, he had returned to Sydney, and gradually formed his Macquarie Street home and social connections. No doubt he was a more important figure there than he would have been in Europe. His private income made him easily independent of earnings artistic or otherwise. I apprehend he lived at the rate of about a thousand pounds a year, or a little more, which meant a good deal in Sydney in those days. I remember being told at one time that he did not earn fifty pounds in a year as a painter; but, of course, I could not answer for that. I think he derived his greatest satisfactions from the society of young aspirants in art, literature, and journalism; and I incline to think it was more to please and interest, to serve and to impress these neophytes, than from any inclination of his own, that he also assiduously cultivated the society of a few maturer men who were definitely placed in the Sydney world as artists, writers, editors, and so forth. But such conclusions came to me gradually, of course. I had not thought of them during that delightfully exciting experience--my first visit to the Macquarie Street studio. The simple little dinner was for me a thrilling episode. The deft-handed Chinaman hovering behind our chairs, the softly shaded table-lights, the wine in tall, fantastically shaped Bohemian glasses, the very food--all unfamiliar, and therefore fascinating: olives, smoked salmon--to which I helped myself largely, believing it to be sliced tomato--a cold bird of sorts, no slices of bread but little rolls in place of them, no tea, and no dishes ever seen in Mrs. Gabbitas's kitchen, or at my North Shore lodging. And then the figure of my host, lounging at table in the rosy light, a cigarette between the shapely fingers of his right hand--I had not before seen any one smoke at the dinner-table--his brown velvet coat, his languidly graceful gestures, the delicate hue of his flowing neck-tie, the costly sort of negligence of his whole dress and deportment--all these trifling matters were alike rare and exquisite in my eyes.