“And what is it I am to see?” said Arabian, turning to Garstin.
“Stand away, Beryl!” said Garstin roughly.
She moved. What else could she do? Arabian saw the portrait and said:
“Oh, my picture at last!”
Then he took a step forward, and there was a silence in the studio.
Miss Van Tuyn looked at the floor at first. Then, as the silence continued, she raised her eyes to Arabian’s. She did not know what she expected to see, but she was surprised at what she did see. Standing quite still immediately in front of the picture, with his large eyes fixed upon it, Arabian was looking very calm. There was, indeed, scarcely any expression in his face. He had thrust both hands into the pockets of his overcoat. Miss Van Tuyn wondered whether those hands would betray any feeling if she could see them. In the calmness of his face she thought there was something stony, but she was not quite sure. She was, perhaps, too painfully moved, too violently excited just then to be a completely accurate observer. And she was aware of that. She wished Arabian would speak. When was he going to speak?
“Well?” said Garstin at last, perhaps catching her feeling. “What do you think of the thing? Are you satisfied with it? I’ve been a long time over it, but there it is at last.”
He laughed slightly, uneasily, she thought.
“What’s the verdict?”
“One moment—please!” said Arabian in an unusually soft voice.