ngland for so long a time that
anything that Brun had to tell him about the London world would be
pleasantly fresh and stimulating.

Brun, round and neat, and a citizen of the world from the crown of his
head to the top of his shining toes, tapped Arkwright on his shoulder:

"Hallo! Brun. How are you? It _is_ good to see you! Haven't seen a soul
I know for the last ever so long."

"Good--good. Excellent. Come along in here."

"In there? Pictures? What's the use of me looking at pictures?"

"We can talk in here. I'll tell you all the news. Besides, there's
something that even you will appreciate."

"Well?" Arkwright laughed good-humouredly and moved towards the door.
"What is it?"

"The Duchess," Brun answered him. "Yale Ross's portrait of the Duchess
of Wrexe. At last," he triumphantly cried, "at last we've got her!"

II

The Duchess had a small corner wall for her own individual possession.
The thin glowing May sunlight fell about her and the dull gold of her
frame received it and gave it back with a rich solemnity as though it
had said, "You have been gay and unrestrained enough with all those
crowds, but here, let me tell you, is something that requires a very
different attitude."

The Duchess received the colour and the sunlight, but made no response.
She sat, leaning forward a little, bending with one of her dry wrinkled
hands over a black ebony cane, a high carved chair supporting and
surrounding her. She seemed, herself, to be carved there, stone, marble,
anything lifeless save for her eyes, the tense clutch of her fingers
about the cane, and the dull but brooding gleam that a large jade
pendant, the only colour against the black of her dress, flung at the
observer. Her mouth was a thin hard line, her nose small but sharp, her
colour so white that it seemed to cut into the paper, and the skin
drawn so tightly over her bones that a breath, a sigh, might snap it.

Her little body was, one might suppose, shrivelled with age, with the
business and pleasure of the world, with the pursuit of some great
ambition or prize, with the battle, unceasing and unyielding, over some
weakness or softness.

Indomitable, remorseless, unhumorous, proud, the pose of the body was
absolutely, one felt, the justest possible.

On either side of the chair were two white and green Chinese dragons,
grotesque with open mouths and large flat feet; a hanging tapestry of
dull gold filled in the background.

Out upon these du