tacit consent they ignored the morning's tragedy, yet they
might not indulge in the irresponsible chatter which would have
provided a ready resource under normal conditions. Luckily Trenholme
remembered that the girl said she painted.

"It is a relief to find that you also are of the elect," he said. "An
artist will look at my pictures with the artist's eye. There are
other sorts of eyes--Eliza's, for instance. Do you know Eliza, of the
White Horse?"

Sylvia collected her wits, which were wool-gathering.

"I think I have met her at village bazaars and tea fights," she said.
"Is she a stout, red-faced woman?"

"Both, to excess; but her chief attribute is her tongue, which has
solved the secret of perpetual motion. Had it kept silent even for
a few seconds at lunch time today, that sharp-eyed and rabbit-eared
detective would never have known of the second picture--your
picture--because I can eke out my exhibits by a half finished sketch
of the lake and a pencil note of the gates. But putting the bits of
the puzzle together afterwards, I came to the conclusion that Mary,
our kitchen maid, passed my room, saw the picture on the easel and was
scandalized. She of course told Eliza, who went to be shocked on her
own account, and then came downstairs and pitched into me. At that
moment the Scotland Yard man turned up."

"Is it so very--dreadful, then?"

"Dreadful! It may fall far short of the standard set by my own vanity;
but given any sort of skill in the painter, how can a charming study
of a girl in a bathing costume, standing by the side of a statue of
Aphrodite, be dreadful? Of course, Miss Manning, you can hardly
understand the way in which a certain section of the public regards
art. In studio jargon we call it the 'Oh, ma!' crowd, that being the
favorite exclamation of the young ladies who peep and condemn. These
people are the hopeless Philistines who argue about the sex of angels,
and demand that nude statues shall be draped. But my picture must
speak for itself. Tell me something about your own work. Are you
taking up painting seriously?"

Now, to be candid, Sylvia herself was not wholly emancipated from the
state of Philistinism which Trenholme was railing at. Had he been less
eager to secure a favorable verdict, or even less agitated by the
unlooked-for condescension she was showing, he would have seen the
absurdity of classing a girl of twenty with the lovers of art for
art's sake, those earnest-eyed ent