"What sort of face, then?"

"Sharp-nosed, thin-lipped, rather anaemic, with a universe of
self-conceit in the eye."

"They wouldn't hang it, and nobody would buy it. Besides, Warburton,
you're wrong if you think the slummers are always that sort. Still,
I'm not sure I shan't do it, out of spite. There's another reason,
too--I hate beautiful women; I don't think I shall ever be able to
paint another."

He sprang up, and paced, as of old, about the room. Will purposely
kept silence.

"I've confessed," Franks began again, with effort, "that I made a
fool of myself the other night. But I wish you'd tell me something
about your time at Trient. Didn't you notice anything? Didn't
anything make you suspect what she was going to do?"

"I never for a moment foresaw it," replied Will, with unemphasised
sincerity.

"Yet she must have made up her mind whilst you were there. Her
astounding hypocrisy! I had a letter a few days before, the same as
usual--"

"Quite the same?"

"Absolutely!--Well, there was no difference that struck me. Then
all at once she declares that for months she had felt her position