"I suppose he is not the born artist that Musgrave is?" I said, when
Forbes had left us.
"I don't know," returned Quarles. "We will go and have another look at the bust, and I think on the way home we might drop in and have another look at Musgrave's picture."
"That portrait bothers me," I said. "One might suppose it was the key to the mystery."
"I am not sure that it isn't," Quarles answered.
Further acquaintance with the Academy picture had rather a curious effect upon me. I do not think I lost anything of my original sense of repulsion, but I was strangely conscious that there was something attractive in the face. I was astonished to find what a likeness there was between the portrait and the bust. The impression created by one became mingled with the impression made by the other.
I said as much to Quarles.
"That is tantamount to saying they are both fine pieces of work," he answered.
"And means, I suppose, that the real woman was somewhere between the two," said Zena.
"Possibly, but with Musgrave's idea the predominant truth," said Quarles.
"Why?" asked Zena.