, Fenwick, I've a mind to do something for you--I have
indeed. I believe you'd justify it--I do! And I've always had a soft
heart for artists. You look at the things in this room'--he waved
his hand towards the walls, which were covered with water-colour
drawings--'I've known most of the men who painted them, and
I've assisted a very great many of them. Those pictures--most of
them--represent loans, sir!--loans at times of difficulty, which I
was _proud_ to make'--Mr. Morrison struck his hand on the table--'yes,
proud--because I believed in the genius of the men to whom I made
them. I said, "I'll take a picture"--and they had the money--and the
money saved their furniture--and their homes--and their wives and
children. Well, I'm glad and proud to have done it, Fenwick!--you mark
my words.'

He paused, his eyes on the artist, his attitude grasping, as it were,
at the other's approval--hungry for it. Fenwick said nothing. He stood
in the shadow of a curtain, and the sarcasm his lip could not restrain
escaped the notice of his companion. 'And so, you see, I'm only
following out an old custom when I say, I believe in you, Fenwick!--I
believe in your abilities--I'm sorry for your necessities--and I'll
come to your assistance. Now, how much would take you to London and
keep you there for six months, till you've made a few friends and done
some work?'

'A hundred pounds,' said the painter, breathing hard.

'A hundred pounds. And what about the wife?'

'Her father very likely would give her shelter, and the child. And of
course I should leave her provided.'

'Well, and what about my security? How, John, in plain words, do you
propose to repay me?'

Mr. Morrison spoke with extreme mildness. His blue eyes, whereof the
whites were visible all round the pupils, shone benevolently on the
artist--his mouth was all sensibility. Whereas, for a moment, there
had been something of the hawk in his attitude and expression, he
was now the dove--painfully obliged to pay a passing attention to
business.

Fenwick hesitated.

'You mentioned six guineas, I think, for this portrait?' He nodded
towards the canvas, on which he had been at work.

'I did. It is unfortunate, of course, that Bella dislikes it so. I
shan't be able to hang it. Never mind. A bargain's a bargain.'

The young man drew himself up proudly.

'It is so, Mr. Morrison. And you wished me to paint your portrait,
I think, and Mrs. Morrison's.' The elder man made a sig