n----"

He asked, smiling: "What kind of an expression have I, Geraldine?"

"Not a boyish one; entirely a man's eyes and mouth and voice--a little
too wise, as though, deep inside, you were tired of something; no, not
exactly that, but as though you had seen many things and had lived some
of them----"

She checked herself, lips softly apart; and the memory of what she had
heard concerning him returned to her.

Confused, she continued to laugh lightly, adding: "I believe I was
afraid of you at first. Ought I to be, still? You know more than I
do--you know different kinds of things: your face and voice and manner
show it. I feel humble and ignorant in the presence of so distinguished
a European artist."

They were laughing together now without a trace of constraint; and she
was aware that his interest in her was unfeigned and unmistakably the
interest of a man for a woman, that he was looking at her as other men
had now begun to look at her, speaking as other men spoke, frankly
interested in her as a woman, finding her agreeable to look at and talk
to.

In the unawakened depths of her a conviction grew that her old playmate
must be classed with other men--man in the abstract--that indefinite and
interesting term, hinting of pleasures to come and possibilities
unimagined.

"Did you paint pictures all the time you were abroad?" she asked.

"Not every minute. I travelled a lot, went about, was asked to shoot in
England and Austria.... I had a good time."

"Didn't you work hard?"

"No. Isn't it disgraceful!"

"But you exhibited in three salons. What were your pictures?"

"I did a portrait of Lady Bylow and her ten children."

"Was it a success?"

He coloured. "They gave me a second medal."

"Oh, I am so glad!" she exclaimed warmly. "And what were your others?"

"A thing called 'The Witch.' Rather painful."

"What was it?"

"Life size. A young girl arrested in bed. Her frightened beauty is
playing the deuce with the people around. I don't know why I did it--the
painting of textures--her flesh, and the armour of the Puritan guard,
the fur of the black cat--and--well, it was academic and I was young."

"Did they reward you?"

"No."

"What was the third picture?"

"Oh, just a girl," he said carelessly.

"Did they give you a prize for it?"

"Y-yes. Only a mention."

"Was it a portrait?"

"Yes--in a way."

"What was it? Just a girl?"

"Yes."

"Who was she?"

"Oh, just a girl----"

"Was s