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Lawson stared ill-temperedly at his picture.
‘How the devil is one to get the intention of the soul ex-
cept by painting exactly what one sees?’
About this time Philip made a new friend. On Monday
morning models assembled at the school in order that one
might be chosen for the week, and one day a young man
was taken who was plainly not a model by profession. Phil-
ip’s attention was attracted by the manner in which he held
himself: when he got on to the stand he stood firmly on
both feet, square, with clenched hands, and with his head
defiantly thrown forward; the attitude emphasised his fine
figure; there was no fat on him, and his muscles stood out
as though they were of iron. His head, close-cropped, was
well-shaped, and he wore a short beard; he had large, dark
eyes and heavy eyebrows. He held the pose hour after hour
without appearance of fatigue. There was in his mien a mix-
ture of shame and of determination. His air of passionate
energy excited Philip’s romantic imagination, and when,
the sitting ended, he saw him in his clothes, it seemed to
him that he wore them as though he were a king in rags. He
was uncommunicative, but in a day or two Mrs. Otter told
Philip that the model was a Spaniard and that he had never
sat before.
‘I suppose he was starving,’ said Philip.
‘Have you noticed his clothes? They’re quite neat and de-
cent, aren’t they?’
It chanced that Potter, one of the Americans who worked
at Amitrano’s, was going to Italy for a couple of months,
and offered his studio to Philip. Philip was pleased. He was

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