Lionel had, indeed, once sent one of Arthur’s funny bits to _Punch_, which brought a polite note from the editor of that famous periodical, soliciting a closer acquaintance with the artist; but Mr. Phillips was a lazy fellow, and his pencil only cut funny capers when Earl Verner’s brother stirred him up, and suggested comical subjects. “By Jove! if I were not to come in now and then, and laugh at you, you’d die of melancholy,” said Lionel Hammerton, on one of his recent visits to Arthur’s studio. “No, I don’t think that,” said Arthur, lighting the cigar which his friend handed to him; “but your society is fatal to dulness. I am too poor a companion to reciprocate the pleasure which your society gives me.” “Nay, dear boy, you are wrong there; I have spent some of my happiest hours in this old studio of yours, Arthur. What is it that makes an artist’s den, as you call it, so free and easy, and yet so _distingué_?” “One gets out of the world, and a little nearer the better land, in a room consecrated to art, even if the prophet be but a dotard, perhaps,” said Arthur. “And its perfect freedom--the absence of conventionality--the Bohemian character of the class called artists--their opposition to the forms and ceremonies, eh?” “The artist only worships one goddess, I suppose; and she permits smoking, loose garments, unwashed hands, and slippers. Light your cigar,” Arthur went on, carelessly, offering his friend a fusee. “What a grand thing it is, too, the painter’s art; of all arts the most delightful, the most satisfying! He is not like the writer, who must be read and studied before his audience can understand and enjoy what he has done. The effect of the artist’s work on the beholder is instantaneous, the reward of his genius is immediate; to say nothing of his own personal delight and satisfaction. But I’m getting prosy, Arthur. Have you been into the Berne neighbourhood lately?” “Yes, I was there during several days in last week,” said Arthur. “Well, any news, _mon ami_: are your friends all well?” Arthur looked at Mr. Hammerton with a curious smile, as he replied, “Do not my views of Avonworth Valley give additional charms to my studio, Lionel?” “News or views--which did you say? views, of course--well, so they do, and so they will continue to do, as long as you find such lovely bits of nature there,” said Lionel, laughing. “Which do you prefer--the landscape or the figure studies?” Arthur inquired, still smiling, though a little sadly. “I like them both; but there was a head which you were going to finish when I was here last. I don’t see it anywhere,” said Lionel, whose eyes had been wandering into every corner of the room. “Here it is,” said Arthur. “I have been making a double study of heads;” and he brought out of a small case, from a cupboard by the window, two water-colour sketches, and looked curiously into Lionel’s face as his handsome friend examined them.