But for all this luxury, it was obviously a workshop. The scent of the flowers struggled feebly through the stronger odour of oils and turpentine, while a couple of the vases were utilised to hold spiky clusters of innumerable paint-brushes. The statue of Venus was next to the life-sized lay figure; the Salviati mirror reflected, besides a bronze Mercury, a grim skeleton and a plaster cast of a head with the outer skin removed to show the facial muscles. Numerous studies and unfinished sketches decorated or defaced the walls, while heavy-looking books on anatomy and perspective were to be found by the side of daintily-bound poets and some of the newest novels. There was quite enough of dust and disorder to show this _atelier_ to be the haunt of earnest workers, and the young man, clad in a much-besmeared painting overall, who stood before a large canvas, scarcely glanced aside as Jack entered. In this industrious artist Jack beheld his best and truest friend. It was to the good-nature of Geoffrey Danvers that he owed the privilege of working in this splendid studio from morning to evening, and making it practically his home; it was Geoff's generosity that freed him from any difficulties concerning the cost of canvas, colours and models. Meeting at an Art school in Paris, a close comradeship had sprung up between the two young Englishmen, and when Geoff returned to London and took up his abode in this flat with its fine studio, he was not slow in suggesting that Jack Hardy should continue to be his brother-in-art. He knew his friend's poverty, knew that without some such help he would be condemned to waste many of his days turning out "pot-boilers," and was heartily glad to be able to save him from this embittering employment. For the present, at all events, Jack was quite freed from every expense connected with his work. He procured all his materials from Geoff's colour dealer, and never even saw the bills, while each week the fee for his model got itself paid in the same convenient manner. But money was indeed scarcely an object to Geoff. He was possessed of far more than enough for the simple life that was his choice. He really could not see that any unusual kindliness or generosity lay in his favourite diversion of playing "fairy godfather" to other young artists, clever yet needy. All his aspirations for the future, all his interest in the present, lay in Art--his life's occupation--and he pursued it with a devotion, an ardour, that could not have been surpassed had he known his whole ultimate welfare to depend upon his success.