am enchanted to make your acquaintance, though I regret the
particular circumstances," said Wyndham, as they passed through the
little ante-room into the dim interior.

"I cannot share your regret," returned Mr. Robinson, with a touch of
suave conviction. "No, not even if the accident were more serious, since
I have been afforded the pleasure of knowing you."

Wyndham was surprised at the sweetness and old-world courtesy revealed
in the old man's personality. "You are very kind," he said with a smile.
"I hope indeed I am worth so pretty a sentiment. But please take this
arm-chair."

He pushed it forward, then set the rush-bag down on the table, hastily
throwing a serviette over the litter of his last meal, which he had not
had the energy to clear away, and which now brusquely offended his
fastidiousness. But as Mr. Robinson, good careful soul, hesitated to
soil the chair, Wyndham got a rag and wiped away the more lurid splashes
from his garments. Then, whilst the old man rested, Wyndham trimmed his
lamp; and presently the glooms vanished before a cosy illumination. Mr.
Robinson at once began to scrutinise the studio on all sides with
amusingly deep interest. The old Normandy presses, the model's throne,
the giant easel, the well-worn Persian carpet, the hosts of canvasses of
all sizes standing with their faces to the wall, the disorder and
informality everywhere--all seemed to strike for him a note of youth and
gaiety, to animate him with a sense of a new romantic universe. His face
lighted with pleasure. He gazed up at the lofty roof and the oak
cross-beams that supported it, and finally his eye rested on the little
stairway and gallery at the far end, now almost lost in the shadows.

"Is your bedroom up there?" he hazarded, his naive interest slipping out
on his tongue.

"Yes," smiled Wyndham, as he tackled the dying fire. "It's the
traditional arrangement."

"What a fascinating place you've got here! It's all a new world to me."

"Ah, it's a very ordinary sort of world--when once you've settled down
to work."

"I have never known an artist before," pursued the old man, "and it is
all fresh to me. I think that if I were a youngster again, I shouldn't
at all dislike having a place like this, and making my home of it. Not
that I mean I should ever have made anything of an artist," he added
with a smile. "It's the spirit of the thing that appeals to me. You must
be very happy here."

"Not necessarily," said W