appeared. I had only seen his profile either night at dinner. He had not deigned to turn his full face upon me (but then, it is true, I had been rather rude the second evening). I was astonished to find how much less ill-looking he is than I had imagined. And then he certainly has a fine figure, though too thin. His manner is curious. He rarely smiles, and is rather brusque in his utterances, but these leave the impression of having been inevitable. If he must speak, why, then there shall be no beating about the bush. You shall have the truth, or nothing. His voice is pleasant; his steel-grey eyes are pleasant. I recognize a power in the man, which perhaps is more apparent in what he does not say than in what he does. There was no surprise at finding me in his sister's room; she had prepared him, of course, for what she meant to do. He bowed stiffly, and then, glancing at my easel, said—
"'You have begun a study of Lucie's head?' He went up close to it, adding after a minute, 'The ear is not in the right place; the rest is fairly sketched in.'
"'Thank you,' I replied. 'The girl's ear is placed abnormally low.'
"'Not as low as that. But perhaps you don't like criticism? I beg your pardon. I forgot. We are used here to criticize each other's work all round.'
"'You may criticize mine freely,' I said, colouring. 'I am ignorant, and—and I can't see things in other people's way. That is because I have worked so much alone, I suppose.'
"While his sister poured out the tea, he walked up to her easel. I was curious to hear what he would say
