morning. Do you fence? Here comes your dog. You can't move but he's after
you. He always makes a face at me when I meet him in the hall, and shows
his nasty little teeth as if he wanted to bite me."

In the studio Hedger got out his sketches, but to Miss Bower, whose
favourite pictures were Christ Before Pilate and a redhaired Magdalen of
Henner, these landscapes were not at all beautiful, and they gave her no
idea of any country whatsoever. She was careful not to commit herself,
however. Her vocal teacher had already convinced her that she had a great
deal to learn about many things.

"Why don't we go out to lunch somewhere?" Hedger asked, and began to dust
his fingers with a handkerchief--which he got out of sight as swiftly as
possible.

"All right, the Brevoort," she said carelessly. "I think that's a good
place, and they have good wine. I don't care for cocktails."

Hedger felt his chin uneasily. "I'm afraid I haven't shaved this morning.
If you could wait for me in the Square? It won't take me ten minutes."

Left alone, he found a clean collar and handkerchief, brushed his coat
and blacked his shoes, and last of all dug up ten dollars from the bottom
of an old copper kettle he had brought from Spain. His winter hat was of
such a complexion that the Brevoort hall boy winked at the porter as he
took it and placed it on the rack in a row of fresh straw ones.


IV