CHAPTER VIII
As soon as Lightmark and Rainham were left alone in the twilight of the studio, the former flung himself into a chair with a sigh of relief, and devoted himself to rolling and lighting a cigarette. Rainham picked up his hat, consulted his watch, with a preoccupation of mind which prevented him from noticing what the time was, and, refusing the proffered tobacco-pouch and the suggested whisky-and-soda, seemed about to go. Then he stopped, with his back turned towards his host and a pretence of examining a sketch.
"I'm sorry I made such an ass of myself about that study—that girl, you know," he said presently. "The fact is, I saw her the other day, and the coincidence was rather startling."
Lightmark blew a light cloud of smoke from his lips before he spoke.
"Oh, it doesn't matter in the least, old man. You didn't implicate me, as it happened, though I'm afraid you got yourself into rather hot water. A poor devil of a painter must have models, and it's recognised, but men of business——! It's quite another thing. There's no possible connection between girls and dry docks." Then he added lightly, "Where are you going to dine to-night? Let's go to one of our Leicester Square haunts, or shall we get into a hansom and drive to Richmond? I've sold old Quain a picture, and I feel extravagantly inclined. What do you say? Under which chef? Speak, or let's toss up."
Rainham appeared to consider for a moment; then he sat down again.
"About that girl," he said; "I suppose you do remember something about her? She must have been very pretty when you painted her, though she's nothing wonderful now, poor thing! I don't want to pump you, Dick, but she seems to have been pretty badly treated, and I want to see if I can't help her."
"Help her!" with a shrug. "For goodness' sake tell me: is it Don
Quixote or Don Lothario that you are playing?"
"I should have thought you need hardly have asked," answered the other a little sadly. "I found the wretched creature waiting, with an equally wretched baby, both apparently not far from starvation, outside the dock the other night; and—well, I thought she might be waiting for you."
Lightmark threw the stump of his cigarette into a corner viciously, with a dangerous glance at the other.