ou're sneezing. Yes, you're quite right, _e un freddo
terribile_, considering that it's July. Off with you now, and come
again at the same time on Friday. _Si conservi_--that's to say, don't
get drunk in the interval; it makes you look such a brute that I
can't paint you."

While the model transformed himself from a scantily-attired Roman
gladiator into an Italian of the ordinary Saffron Hill description,
Lightmark hastily washed his brushes, turned down his shirt sleeves,
and donned the becoming velvet painting-jacket, which Mrs. Dollond
had so much admired.

"I hope they won't notice Cesare's pipe," he said anxiously. "Even
though he doesn't smoke here, it always seems to hang about. Perhaps
I had better open the window and burn a pastille. And now, are we
prepared to receive Philistia? Yes, I don't think the place looks
bad, and--but perhaps Mrs. Sylvester mightn't like the gladiator. He
certainly is deucedly anatomical at present. I'll go and leave him
in Copal's studio, and then I can borrow his tea-things at the same
time."

The studio was a lofty room on the ground-floor with an
elaborately-devised skylight, and a large window facing north,
through which a distant glimpse of Holland Park could be obtained.
Lightmark had covered the floor with pale Indian matting, with a bit
of strong colour, here and there, in the shape of a modern Turkish
rug. For furniture, he had picked up some old chairs and a large
straight-backed settee with grotesquely-carved legs, which, with the
aid of a judicious arrangement of drapery, looked eminently
attractive, and conveyed an impression of comfort which closer
acquaintance did not altogether belie. Then there was the platform,
covered with dark cloth, on which his models posed; the rickety
table with many drawers, in which he kept brushes and colours; a lay
figure, disguised as a Venetian flower-girl, which had collapsed
tipsily into a corner; two or three easels; and a tall, stamped
leather screen, which was useful for backgrounds. A few sketches,
mostly unframed, stood in a row on the narrow shelf which ran along
the pale-green distempered walls; and more were stacked in the
corners--some in portfolios, and some with their dusty backs exposed
to view. The palette which he had been using lay, like a great
fantastic leaf, upon the table, amid a chaos of broken crayons,
dingy stumps, photographs of sitters, pellets of bread, disreputable
colour-tubes, and small bottles of linse