For the wretchedness of his quarters he made no further apology; he spoke in his easy, amiable way and entirely without embarrassment, standing beside Cleland and moving with him from one study to another. "They’re just as clever as they can be," said Cleland, "—infernally clever, Grismer. Are they commissions?" "I’m sorry to say they are not," replied Grismer with a smile. "But a man who can do this work ought never to want for commissions," insisted Cleland. "I’m exceedingly glad you like my work," returned Grismer pleasantly, "but as for orders——" he shrugged—"when I didn’t need them they came to me. But, Cleland, when the world learns that a man needs anything it suddenly discovers that it doesn’t need him! Isn’t it funny," he added good-humouredly, "that prosperous talent is always in demand, always turning down work which it has no time to do; but the same talent on its uppers is universally under deep suspicion?" He spoke lightly, impersonally, and without the slightest trace of bitterness. "Sit down and light one of your own cigarettes," he said. "I’ve only pipe-tobacco, and you probably wouldn’t care for it." Cleland seated himself in the depths of a big, threadbare arm-chair. Grismer said with a smile: "No use informing you that I’m obliged to live economically. Models are expensive; so is material. Therefore, I live where I can afford both, and a roof to cover them.... And do you know, Cleland, that after all it doesn’t matter much where one sleeps——" he made a slight gesture toward the screen at the end of the room. "I used to think it did until I had to give up a place of my own full of expensive and beautiful things. "But it really doesn’t matter. The main idea is to be free—free of debt, free of expensive impedimenta which cause one anxiety, free from the importunities and restrictions of one’s friends." He laughed and dropped one long leg over the other. "I’ve niggers and Chinamen for neighbours. They cause me no inconvenience. It’s rather agreeable than otherwise to sit here and work, or lounge about and smoke, wondering whether a commission is already on its way or whether it has not yet even taken shape in the brain of some person unknown who is destined by fate some day to exchange his money for my bronze or marble.... It’s an amusing game, Cleland, isn’t it?—the whole affair of living, I mean.... Not too unpleasant, not too agreeable.... But if one’s heart-action were not involuntary and automatic, do you know, if it lay with me I’d not bother to keep my heart ticking—I’d be too lazy to wind it up." He stretched himself out in his chair gracefully, good-humoured, serenely amused at his own ideas. "Did you have a good time abroad?" he inquired. "Yes.... When you get on your feet you ought to go to Paris, Grismer."