"We discussed you, of course. I forget whether our conclusion was
favourable or not."

The artist laughed, and strode about the room with his hands in his
pockets.

"You know what?" he exclaimed, seeming to look closely at a print on
the wall. "I'm going to be married before the end of the year. On
that point I've made up my mind. I went yesterday to see a house at
Fulham--Mrs. Cross's, by the bye, it's to let at Michaelmas, rent
forty-five. All but settled that I shall take it. Risk be hanged.
I'm going to make money. What an ass I was to take that fellow's
first offer for 'Sanctuary'! It was low water with me, and I felt
bilious. Fifty guineas! Your fault, a good deal, you know; you made
me think worse of it than it deserved. You'll see; Blackstaffe'll
make a small fortune out of it; of course he has all the rights--
idiot that I was! Well, it's too late to talk about that.--And I
say, old man, don't take my growl too literally. I don't really mean
that you were to blame. I should be an ungrateful cur if I thought
such a thing."

"How's 'The Slummer' getting on?" asked Warburton good-humouredly.

"Well, I was going to say that I shall have it finished in a few
weeks. If Blackstaffe wants 'The Slummer' he'll have to pay for it.
Of course it must go to the Academy, and of course I shall keep all
the rights--unless Blackstaffe makes a really handsome offer. Why,
it ought to be worth five or six hundred to me at least. And that
would start us. But I don't care even if I only get half that, I
shall be married all the same. Rosamund has plenty of pluck. I