new
studio."

"I never go west of Regent Street," said Oswyn brusquely.

Lightmark laughed a little nervously.

"Oswyn doesn't believe in me, you know, Philip," he explained
lightly. "It is a humiliating thing to have to say, but I may as
well say it, to save him the trouble. He is so infernally frank
about it, you know. He thinks that I am a humbug, that I don't take
my art seriously, and because, when I have painted my picture, I
begin to think about the pieces of silver, he is not quite sure that
I may not be a descendant of Judas. And then, worst of all, I have
committed the unpardonable sin: I have been hung at Burlington
House. Isn't that about it, Oswyn?"

The elder man laughed his low, mirthless laugh.

"We understand each other, Dick; but you don't quite do yourself
justice--or me. I have an immense respect for your talent. I feel
sure you will achieve greatness--in Burlington House."

"Well, it's a respectable institution," said the young man soberly.

Oswyn finished his drink at a long, thirsty gulp, watching the young
man askance with his impressive eyes. Rainham noticed for the first
time that he had a curious trick of smiling with his lips only--or
was it of sneering?--while the upper part of his face and his heavy
brows frowned.

"By the way, Lightmark," he observed presently, "I have to
congratulate you on your renown. There is quite a long panegyric on
your picture in the _Outcry_ this week. Do you know who wrote it?"

"Damn it, man!" broke out Lightmark, with a vehemence which, to
Rainham, seemed uncalled for, "how should I know? I haven't seen the
rag for an age."

There was an angry light in his eyes, but it faded immediately.

Oswyn continued apologetically:

"I beg your pardon. It must be very annoying to you to be puffed
indiscreetly. But I fancied, you know----"

Lightmark, flushing a little, interrupted him, laying his hand with
a quick gesture, that might have contained an appeal in it, on the
painter's frayed coat-sleeve.

"Your glass is empty, and we are about ready for our coffee. What
will you take?"

Oswyn repeated his order, smiling still a little remotely, as he let
the water trickle down from a scientific height to his glass,
whipping the crystal green of its contents into a nebulous yellow.
Rainham, who had listened to the little passage of arms in silence,
felt troubled, uneasy. The air seemed thunderous, and was heavy with
unspoken words. There appeared to be an