Permanent colour was his specialty. Anyway, his long, steady fingers were permanently stained with acid and nicotine. He was employed by a photographer when they discovered him. Or, to be accurate, he discovered them at their third-class hotel on Broadway.... And never left them until he had signed a contract.
It was after church that somebody introduced E. Stuart Graydon to Eris.
He walked home with the family; and his talent for general conversation earned him an invitation to remain to midday dinner.
Quiet, convincing eloquence was his asset. There appeared to be no subject with which he was not reasonably familiar. His, also, was that terrible gift for familiarity of every description; he became a friend over night, a member of the family in a week. He was what Broadway calls “quick study,” never risking “going stale” by “letter perfect” preparation for an opening.
He took a deep interest in Guernsey breeding. But Odell did the talking. That was how Graydon acquired a reputation for an astonishing versatility;—he started the subject and kept it kindled while others did the talking. And in ten minutes he was able to converse upon the theme with a skilful and convincing fluency entirely irresistible.
After dinner Mazie showed him Fanny’s miniature on ivory.
He smilingly sketched for the family a brief history of miniature painting. It happened that he was minutely familiar with all methods and all branches of Art. Indeed, that was how the entire affair started. And Art accounted for the acid stains, also.
To Eris, Art included the drama, and all that her ardent mind desired. It took Mr. Graydon about five minutes to discover this. And of course it transpired that he knew everything connected with the drama, spoken and silent.