"You'll have a rough passage tonight," said Dick. "It's blowing outside. I suppose I may come over and see you if I'm good?"
"You mustn't. I shall be busy. At least, if I want you I'll send for you. But I shall write from Vitry-sur-Marne. I shall have heaps of things to consult you about. Oh, Dick, you have been so good to me!—so good to me!"
"Thank you for that, dear. It hasn't made any difference, has it?"
"I can't tell a fib. It hasn't—in that way. But don't think I'm not grateful."
"Damn the gratitude!" said Dick, huskily, to the paddle-box.
"What's the use of worrying? You know I should ruin your life, and you'd ruin mine, as things are now. You remember what you said when you were so angry that day in the Park? One of us has to be broken. Can't you wait till that day comes?"
"No, love. I want you unbroken—all to myself."
Maisie shook her head. "My poor Dick, what can I say!"
"Don't say anything. Give me a kiss. Only one kiss, Maisie. I'll swear I won't take any more. You might as well, and then I can be sure you're grateful."
Maisie put her cheek forward, and Dick took his reward in the darkness.
It was only one kiss, but, since there was no time-limit specified, it was a long one. Maisie wrenched herself free angrily, and Dick stood abashed and tingling from head to toe.
"Goodbye, darling. I didn't mean to scare you. I'm sorry. Only—keep well and do good work,—specially the Melancolia. I'm going to do one, too. Remember me to Kami, and be careful what you drink. Country drinking-water is bad everywhere, but it's worse in France. Write to me if you want anything, and good-bye. Say good-bye to the whatever-you-call-um girl, and—can't I have another kiss? No. You're quite right. Goodbye."
A shout told him that it was not seemly to charge of the mail-bag incline. He reached the pier as the steamer began to move off, and he followed her with his heart.
"And there's nothing—nothing in the wide world—to keep us apart except her obstinacy. These Calais night-boats are much too small. I'll get Torp to write to the papers about it. She's beginning to pitch already."
Maisie stood where Dick had left her till she heard a little gasping cough at her elbow. The red-haired girl's eyes were alight with cold flame.
"He kissed you!" she said. "How could you let him, when he wasn't anything to you? How dared you to take a kiss from him? Oh, Maisie, let's go to the ladies' cabin. I'm sick,—deadly sick."
"We aren't into open water yet. Go down, dear, and I'll stay here. I don't like the smell of the engines.... Poor Dick! He deserved one,—only one. But I didn't think he'd frighten me so."
Dick returned to town next day just in time for lunch, for which he had telegraphed. To his disgust, there were only empty plates in the studio.
He lifted up his voice like the bears in the fairy-tale, and Torpenhow entered, looking guilty.
"H'sh!" said he. "Don't make such a noise. I took it. Come into my rooms, and I'll show you why."
Dick paused amazed at the threshold, for on Torpenhow's sofa lay a girl asleep and breathing heavily. The little cheap sailor-hat, the blue-and-white dress, fitter for June than for February, dabbled with mud at the skirts, the jacket trimmed with imitation Astrakhan and ripped at the shoulder-seams, the one-and-elevenpenny umbrella, and, above all, the disgraceful condition of the kid-topped boots, declared all things.
"Oh, I say, old man, this is too bad! You mustn't bring this sort up here. They steal things from the rooms."
"It looks bad, I admit, but I was coming in after lunch, and she staggered into the hall. I thought she was drunk at first, but it was collapse. I couldn't leave her as she was, so I brought her up here and gave her your lunch. She was fainting from want of food. She went fast asleep the minute she had finished."
"I know something of that complaint. She's been living on sausages, I suppose. Torp, you should have handed her over to a policeman for presuming to faint in a respectable house. Poor little wretch! Look at the face! There isn't an ounce of immorality in it. Only folly,—slack, fatuous, feeble, futile folly. It's a typical head. D'you notice how the skull begins to show through the flesh padding on the face and cheek-bone?"
"What a cold-blooded barbarian it is! Don't hit a woman when she's down. Can't we do anything? She was simply dropping with starvation. She almost fell into my arms, and when she got to the food she ate like a wild beast. It was horrible."
"I can give her money, which she would probably spend in drinks. Is she going to sleep for ever?"
The girl opened her eyes and glared at the men between terror and effrontery.
"Feeling better?" said Torpenhow.
"Yes. Thank you. There aren't many gentlemen that are as kind as you are. Thank you."
"When did you leave service?" said Dick, who had been watching the scarred and chapped hands.
"How did you know I was in service? I was. General servant. I didn't like it."
"And how do you like being your own mistress?"
"Do I look as if I liked it?"
"I suppose not. One moment. Would you be good enough to turn your face to the window?"
The girl obeyed, and Dick watched her face keenly,—so keenly that she made as if to hide behind Torpenhow.
"The eyes have it," said Dick, walking up and down. "They are superb eyes for my business. And, after all, every head depends on the eyes. This has been sent from heaven to make up for—what was taken away. Now the weekly strain's off my shoulders, I can get to work in earnest. Evidently sent from heaven. Yes. Raise your chin a little, please."
"Gently, old man, gently. You're scaring somebody out of her wits," said Torpenhow, who could see the girl trembling.
"Don't let him hit me! Oh, please don't let him hit me! I've been hit cruel today because I spoke to a man. Don't let him look at me like that! He's reg'lar wicked, that one. Don't let him look at me like that, neither! Oh, I feel as if I hadn't nothing on when he looks at me like that!"
The overstrained nerves in the frail body gave way, and the girl wept like a little child and began to scream. Dick threw open the window, and Torpenhow flung the door back.
"There you are," said Dick, soothingly. "My friend here can call for a policeman, and you can run through that door. Nobody is going to hurt you."
The girl sobbed convulsively for a few minutes, and then tried to laugh.
"Nothing in the world to hurt you. Now listen to me for a minute. I'm what they call an artist by profession. You know what artists do?"
"They draw the things in red and black ink on the pop-shop labels."
"I dare say. I haven't risen to pop-shop labels yet. Those are done by the Academicians. I want to draw your head."
"What for?"
"Because it's pretty. That is why you will come to the room across the landing three times a week at eleven in the morning, and I'll give you three quid a week just for sitting still and being drawn. And there's a quid on account."
"For nothing? Oh, my!" The girl turned the sovereign in her hand, and with more foolish tears, "Ain't neither 'o you two gentlemen afraid of my bilking you?"
"No. Only ugly girls do that. Try and remember this place. And, by the way, what's your name?"
"I'm Bessie,—Bessie——It's no use giving the rest. Bessie Broke,—Stone-broke, if you like. What's your names? But there,—no one ever gives the real ones."
Dick consulted Torpenhow with his eyes.
"My name's Heldar, and