About the beginning of March Pynsent arrived from England.
"I've caught on," he told Mark. "I shall certainly take a studio somewhere in Kensington. Lady Randolph has found me a score of patrons. What are you doing?"
Mark produced his big canvas. Pynsent stared at it, pursing up his lower lip and frowning. Mark's hopes oozed from every pore. The picture exhibited pitiful signs of excessive labour. Pynsent obtained his best effects with bits of pure colour laid on with amazing precision. Mark's colour looked like putty.
"Are they all as ugly as that?" said Pynsent, indicating the model.
"I got the ugliest in the v-v-village. There's a lot in her face."
"A lot of dirt."
"I don't allow her to wash it. Can you read her 1-life's history?"
"I'm hanged if I can."
"You see n-nothing in her eyes?"
"Nor in her mouth. She's lost all her teeth."