ot as a
painter--he did not seem to be of that type--but as a man of
letters--probably a maker of obscure verse.

When he had mastered the first wild impulse which prompted him to
tear his pictures down, to turn their faces to the wall--anything to
hide them from this smiling, languid, well-dressed crowd--and
resigned himself to observation, he saw that Mosenthal was beaming
at him complacently, through the massive gold spectacles which
adorned and modified the bridge of his compromising nose, from his
seat behind the table, where information as to the prices of the
exhibits could be obtained.

There were exactly forty drawings and paintings to be seen upon the
sparsely-covered walls, which had been draped for the occasion with
coarsely-woven linen of a dull olive-green, and about half of these
were drawings and studies, small in point of size, executed in chalk
and pastels.

The greater part of these represented ordinary scenes of London
outdoor life--a deserted corner of Kensington Gardens, with tall
soot-blackened trees lifting their stately tracery of dark branches
into the sky; a reach of the wide, muddy river, with a gaunt bridge
looming through the fog; a gin-palace at night time, with garish
lamps shining out upon the wet streets and crouching beggars.

Of the remainder, which included a few portraits and some
imaginative subjects, the greater number were painted in oils, and
the largest canvas would not have seemed out of place on the walls
of an ordinary room.

Oswyn smiled grimly as he noticed that the portrait of Margot, which
he had begun for Rainham and finished for himself, was a
considerable centre of attraction; there was quite a dense crowd in
the vicinity of this canvas (it is true, it was near the tea-table),
and it included two bishops, a duke, and an actress, of whom the
last-named was certainly more stared at than the picture.

It irritated him, in spite of his contempt for the throng, to see
people standing, chatting, with their backs turned towards his
creations; and when Mosenthal informed him in a triumphant
stage-whisper, leaning across the table littered with catalogues,
that nine of the pictures had already found purchasers, he was
almost inclined to rebel, to refuse to ratify the sales.

The only friendly face which he encountered during the afternoon was
that of McAllister, who presently brought his congratulations and
conspicuous presence to the corner to which Oswyn had betake