"It just came to me."
"Humph!" retorted Ardly, suspiciously.
Nevins squeezed a trifle of white-lead on his palette. Then he rose and drew the cord attached to the shade beneath the skylight. After which he stood to one side, studying the canvas with half-closed eyes, and shaking his dissatisfied head. As he returned to his seat he brushed the mouth of a tube of paint with his trousers, and swore softly. At last he spoke.
"I know something else," he volunteered, cautiously.
"About Mariana?"
"Yes."
"Let's have it, man."
Nevins laid his palette aside, and, seating himself astride the back of a chair, surveyed Ardly impressively.
"I can't see that there is any use," he remarked.
Ardly threw the end of a cigar at him and squared up wrathfully. "Are you a damned fool or a utilitarian?" he demanded.