elf so tongue-tied in the presence of this cosmopolitan culture of
hers, which she did her feminine best to disguise--which nevertheless
made the atmosphere of her personality. She had lived some six years
in Paris, it appeared; and had known most of the chief artists and
men of letters. Fenwick writhed under his ignorance of the French
language; it was a disadvantage not to be made up.

However, he talked much, and sometimes arrogantly; he gave his views,
compared one man with another; if he felt any diffidence, he showed
little. And indeed she led him on. Upon his art he had a right
to speak, and the keen intellectual interest she betrayed in his
impressions--the three days impressions of a painter--stirred and
flattered him.

But he made a great many rather ludicrous mistakes, inevitable to one
who had just taken a first canter through the vast field of French
art; mistakes in names and dates, in the order of men and generations.
And when he made a blunder he was apt to stick to it absurdly, or
excuse it elaborately. She soon gave up correcting him, even in the
gentle, hesitating way she at first made use of. She said nothing; but
there was sometimes mischief, perhaps mockery, in her eyes. Fenwick
knew it; and would either make fresh plunges, or paint on in a sulky
silence.

How on earth had she guessed the authorship of those articles in the
_Mirror_? He supposed he must have talked the same kind of stuff to
her. At any rate, she had made him feel in some intangible way that
it seemed to her a dishonourable thing to be writing anonymous attacks
upon a body from whom you were asking, or intending to ask, exhibition
space for your pictures and the chance of selling your work. His
authorship was never avowed between them. Nevertheless this criticism
annoyed and pricked him. He said to himself that it was just like a
woman--who always took the personal view. But he had not yet begun on
his last two articles, which were overdue.

On one occasion, encouraged perhaps by some kindness of expression
on her part, he had ventured an indirect question or two, meant to
procure him some information about her past history and present way
of life. She had rebuffed him at once; and he had said to himself
fiercely that it was of course because he was a man of the people
and she one of 'the upper ten.' He might paint her; but he must not
presume to know her!

On the other hand, his mind was still warm with memories of her
encou