'I shall do good work,' he said, doggedly, after a pause. Then, suddenly raising his head, he added, 'And if I weren't sure of it, I'd never let you lend me money.'
Morrison laughed.
'That's all right.—And now what will Mrs. Fenwick say to us?'
Fenwick turned away. He repossessed himself of the envelope, and buttoned his coat over it, before he replied.
'I shall, of course, consult her immediately. What shall I do with this picture?' He pointed to the portrait on the easel.
'Take it home with you, and see if you can't beautify it a little,' said Morrison, in a tone of good-humour. 'You've got a lot of worldly wisdom to learn yet, my dear Fenwick. The women must be flattered.'
Fenwick repeated that he was sorry if Miss Bella was disappointed, but the tone was no less perfunctory than before. After stooping and looking sharply for a moment into the picture—which was a strong, ugly thing, with some passages of remarkable technique—he put it aside, saving that he would send for it in the evening. Then, having packed up and shouldered the rest of his painter's gear, he stood ready to depart.
'I'm awfully obliged to you!' he said, holding out his hand.
Morrison looked at the handsome young fellow, the vivacity of the eyes, the slight agitation of the lip.
'Don't mention it,' he said, with redoubled urbanity. 'It's my way—only my way! When'll you be off?'