"Oh," said Mrs. Perry, looking suddenly rather bored. She leaned back in her chair and drank her tea slowly.
She was a woman of about thirty, simply but richly dressed all in black. Her figure was tall, slender, nervous; her face oval and heavier in the lower part; her mouth thin-lipped and imperious; her eyes set rather close together, very dark, full of intensity and will. Her thick black hair was parted on her forehead under her feathery hat. On her fingers she wore a number of jewels. She was handsome, and every motion she made breathed coquetry—not light, however, but passionate and serious—not intentional, but an involuntary appeal.
"This is your wife's tea-table, of course," she said, glancing at the silver and porcelain. "You wouldn't have anything so pretty for yourself, would you?"
"I don't believe so," said Basil cheerfully. "She often works here, you see. This is her corner. She models little things very well. I'll show you something she's doing, if you like."
"Yes, thanks, later. But the drawings first, if you please. Another cup of tea?"
"No, thanks—yes, I will, if you don't mind."
He put down his cup, lit another cigarette, and went to get the drawings, which were in a large portfolio, tucked away in a corner of the rather untidy studio. He held them up one by one be-
