He paused again, with an air which convinced the artist that he was
going on with this elaborate explanation to cover his awkwardness.
Fenton did not speak, and his visitor continued,--

"The Commissioners might settle the matter now, but they won't, and
we've got to have the fight, I suppose; so, of course, you can see how
it is for our interest to know just what we are fighting."

He rose as he spoke, and with an air of deliberation, buttoned his
overcoat, which he had not removed.

"I don't think you feel like painting this morning," he observed, "and
I'll come in again. I'll leave you to think over what I have said."

Fenton rose also, regarding him with fierce, level eyes.

"And suppose," he said, "that I call you a damned scoundrel, and forbid
you ever to set foot in my studio again?"

The other laughed, with the easy assurance of a bully who feels himself
secure.

"Oh, you won't," he replied. "If you did,--well, I am on the committee
for the new statue, and have to see Herman now and then you know, and I
should, perhaps, ask him why his wife poses for you. Good morning."

And with a chuckling laugh, he took himself out.