Part 121 (1/2)

”It looks bad, I admit, but I was coming in after lunch, and she staggered into the hall. I thought she was drunk at first, but it was collapse. I couldn't leave her as she was, so I brought her up here and gave her your lunch. She was fainting from want of food. She went fast asleep the minute she had finished.”

”I know something of that complaint. She's been living on sausages, I suppose. Torp, you should have handed her over to a policeman for presuming to faint in a respectable house. Poor little wretch! Look at the face! There isn't an ounce of immorality in it. Only folly,--slack, fatuous, feeble, futile folly. It's a typical head. D'you notice how the skull begins to show through the flesh padding on the face and cheek-bone?”

”What a cold-blooded barbarian it is! Don't hit a woman when she's down. Can't we do anything? She was simply dropping with starvation. She almost fell into my arms, and when she got to the food she ate like a wild beast. It was horrible.”

”I can give her money, which she would probably spend in drinks. Is she going to sleep for ever?”

The girl opened her eyes and glared at the men between terror and effrontery.

”Feeling better?” said Torpenhow.

”Yes. Thank you. There aren't many gentlemen that are as kind as you are. Thank you.”

”When did you leave service?” said d.i.c.k, who had been watching the scarred and chapped hands.

”How did you know I was in service? I was. General servant. I didn't like it.”

”And how do you like being your own mistress?”

”Do I look as if I liked it?”

”I suppose not. One moment. Would you be good enough to turn your face to the window?”

The girl obeyed, and d.i.c.k watched her face keenly,--so keenly that she made as if to hide behind Torpenhow.

”The eyes have it,” said d.i.c.k, walking up and down. ”They are superb eyes for my business. And, after all, every head depends on the eyes.

This has been sent from heaven to make up for--what was taken away.

Now the weekly strain's off my shoulders, I can get to work in earnest.

Evidently sent from heaven. Yes. Raise your chin a little, please.”

”Gently, old man, gently. You're scaring somebody out of her wits,” said Torpenhow, who could see the girl trembling.

”Don't let him hit me! Oh, please don't let him hit me! I've been hit cruel today because I spoke to a man. Don't let him look at me like that! He's reg'lar wicked, that one. Don't let him look at me like that, neither! Oh, I feel as if I hadn't nothing on when he looks at me like that!”

The overstrained nerves in the frail body gave way, and the girl wept like a little child and began to scream. d.i.c.k threw open the window, and Torpenhow flung the door back.

”There you are,” said d.i.c.k, soothingly. ”My friend here can call for a policeman, and you can run through that door. n.o.body is going to hurt you.”

The girl sobbed convulsively for a few minutes, and then tried to laugh.

”Nothing in the world to hurt you. Now listen to me for a minute. I'm what they call an artist by profession. You know what artists do?”

”They draw the things in red and black ink on the pop-shop labels.”

”I dare say. I haven't risen to pop-shop labels yet. Those are done by the Academicians. I want to draw your head.”

”What for?”

”Because it's pretty. That is why you will come to the room across the landing three times a week at eleven in the morning, and I'll give you three quid a week just for sitting still and being drawn. And there's a quid on account.”