coming up and smiling at her, or making tentative remarks or jests, to
which she would reply, "Yes, Mr. Dallison," or "No, Mr. Dallison," as
the case might be.

Seeing him return from one of these little visits, an Art Critic
standing before the picture had smiled, and his round, clean-shaven,
sensual face had assumed a greenish tint in eyes and cheeks, as of the
fat in turtle soup.

The only two other people who had noticed her particularly were those
old acquaintances, Mr. Purcey and Mr. Stone. Mr. Purcey had thought,
'Rather a good-lookin' girl,' and his eyes strayed somewhat continually
in her direction. There was something piquant and, as it were,
unlawfully enticing to him in the fact that she was a real artist's
model.

Mr. Stone's way of noticing her had been different. He had approached
in his slightly inconvenient way, as though seeing but one thing in the
whole world.

"You are living by yourself?" he had said. "I shall come and see you."

Made by the Art Critic or by Mr. Purcey, that somewhat strange remark
would have had one meaning; made by Mr. Stone it obviously had another.
Having finished what he had to say, the author of the book of "Universal
Brotherhood" had bowed and turned to go. Perceiving that he saw before
him the door and nothing else, everybody made way for him at once.
The remarks that usually arose behind his back began to be
heard--"Extraordinary old man!" "You know, he bathes in the Serpentine
all the year round?" "And he cooks his food himself, and does his own