reputation for good cooking combined with cheapness; and the _patron_,
a retired horse-dealer who had taken to victualling in order to build up
a business for his son, was a cheery soul whose loud-voiced friendliness
attracted custom. But on the first floor was a narrow room, with three
tables arranged in a horse-shoe, which was reserved for a small party of
English or American painters and a few Frenchmen with their wives. At
least, they were so nearly wives, and their manner had such a matrimonial
respectability, that Susie, when first she and Margaret were introduced
into this society, judged it would be vulgar to turn up her nose. She
held that it was prudish to insist upon the conventions of Notting Hill
in the Boulevard de Montparnasse. The young women who had thrown in their
lives with these painters were modest in demeanour and quiet in dress.
They were model housewives, who had preserved their self-respect
notwithstanding a difficult position, and did not look upon their
relation with less seriousness because they had not muttered a few
words before _Monsieur le Maire_.

The room was full when Arthur Burdon entered, but Margaret had kept him
an empty seat between herself and Miss Boyd. Everyone was speaking at
once, in French, at the top of his voice, and a furious argument was
proceeding on the merit of the later Impressionists. Arthur sat down, and
was hurriedly introduced to a lanky youth, who sat on the other side of
Margaret. He was very tall, very thin, very fair. He wore a very high
collar and very long hair, and held himself like an exhausted lily.

'He always reminds me of an Aubrey Beardsley that's been dreadfully
smudged,' said Susie in an undertone. 'He's a nice, kind creature, but
his name is Jagson. He has virtue and industry. I haven't seen any of his
work, but he has absolutely _no_ talent.'