Budge Street--almost as unpopular as Paul. In all probability the
Buttons were only too glad to be rid of him. If he found no favour
in the eyes of Mrs. Button, in the eyes of Button he was detestable.
Occasionally he spoke of them to Barney Bill on his rare appearances
in London, but for prudential motives the latter had struck Bludston
out of his itinerary and could give no information. At last Paul
ceased altogether to think of them. They belonged to a far-distant
past already becoming blurred in his memory.

So Paul lived his queer sedulous life, month after month, year after
year, known among the studios as a quaint oddity, drawn out
indulgently by the men, somewhat petted, monkey-fashion, by the
women, forgotten by both when out of their presence, but developing
imperceptibly day by day along the self-centring line. A kindly
adviser suggested a gymnasium to keep him in condition for
professional purposes. He took the advice, and in the course of time
became a splendid young animal, a being so physically perfect as to
be what the good vicar of Bludston had called him in tired jest--a
lusus naturae. But though proud of his body as any finely formed
human may honorably be, a far higher arrogance saved him from
Narcissus vanity. It was the inner and essential Paul and not the
outer investiture that was born to great things.

In his eighteenth year he gradually awoke to consciousness of
change. One of his classmates at the Polytechnic institute, with
whom be had picked a slight acquaintance, said one evening as they
were walking homeward together: "I shan't be coming here after next
week. I've got a good clerkship in the city. What are you doing?"

"I'm an artist's model," said Paul.