were unimportant in comparison with a pretty face. She shrugged her shoulders.
“I don’t know if you young things realise that it’s growing late. If you want us to dine at the Chien Noir, you must leave us now, so that we can make ourselves tidy.”
“Very well,” said Arthur, getting up. “I’ll go back to my hotel and have a wash. We’ll meet at half-past seven.”
When Margaret had closed the door on him, she turned to her friend.
“Well, what do you think?” she asked, smiling.
“You can’t expect me to form a definite opinion of a man whom I’ve seen for so short a time.”
“Nonsense!” said Margaret.
Susie hesitated for a moment.
“I think he has an extraordinarily good face,” she said at last gravely. “I’ve never seen a man whose honesty of purpose was so transparent.”
Susie Boyd was so lazy that she could never be induced to occupy herself with household matters, and, while Margaret put the tea things away, she began to draw the caricature which every new face suggested to her. She made a little sketch of Arthur, abnormally lanky, with a colossal nose, with the wings and the bow and arrow of the God of Love, but it was not half done before she thought it silly. She tore it up with impatience. When Margaret came back into the studio she turned round and looked at her steadily.
“Well?” said the girl, smiling under the scrutiny.
She stood in the middle of the lofty studio. Half-
