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(she outlined the words with her lips as she read), and left
it on the table when he went away. It was an inspiration, for
next day, when he came in, she smiled at him.
‘I didn’t know you could draw,’ she said.
‘I was an art-student in Paris for two years.’
‘I showed that drawing you left be’ind you last night to
the manageress and she WAS struck with it. Was it meant
to be me?’
‘It was,’ said Philip.
When she went for his tea, one of the other girls came
up to him.
‘I saw that picture you done of Miss Rogers. It was the
very image of her,’ she said.
That was the first time he had heard her name, and when
he wanted his bill he called her by it.
‘I see you know my name,’ she said, when she came.
‘Your friend mentioned it when she said something to me
about that drawing.’
‘She wants you to do one of her. Don’t you do it. If you
once begin you’ll have to go on, and they’ll all be wanting
you to do them.’ Then without a pause, with peculiar incon-
sequence, she said: ‘Where’s that young fellow that used to
come with you? Has he gone away?’
‘Fancy your remembering him,’ said Philip.
‘He was a nice-looking young fellow.’
Philip felt quite a peculiar sensation in his heart. He did
not know what it was. Dunsford had jolly curling hair, a
fresh complexion, and a beautiful smile. Philip thought of
these advantages with envy.

0 Of Human Bondage