'He is engaged with the Gypsy-model, sir,' said Cyril's man, pointing to the studio door, which was ajar. 'He told me that if ever you should call you were to be admitted at once. Mr. Wilderspin is there too.'
'You need not announce me,' I said, as I pushed open the door.
Entering the studio, I found myself behind a tall easel where Cyril
was at work. I was concealed from him, and also from Wilderspin and
Sinfi. On my left stood Cyril's caricature of Wilderspin's 'Faith and
Love,' upon which the light from a window was falling aslant!
Before I could pass round the easel into the open space I was arrested by overhearing a conversation between Cyril, Sinfi, and Wilderspin.
They were talking about her!
With my eyes fixed on Cyril's caricature on my left hand; I stood, every nerve in my body seeming to listen to the talk, while the veil of the goddess-queen in the caricature appeared to become illuminated; the tragedy of our love (from the spectacle of her father's dead body shining in the moonlight, with a cross on his breast, down to the hideous-grotesque scene of the woman at the corner of Essex Street) appeared to be represented on the veil of the mocking queen in little pictures of scorching flame. These are the words I heard:
'Keep your head in that position, Lady Sinfi,' said Cyril, 'and pray do not get so excited.'
'I thought I felt the Swimmin' Rei in the room,' said Sinfi.
'What do you mean?'
'I thought I felt the stir of him in my burk [bosom]. Howsomever, it must ha' bin all a fancy o' mine. But you see, Mr. Cyril, she wur once a friend o' mine. I want to know what skeared her? If it was her as set for the pictur, she'd never 'a' had the fit if she hadn't, 'a' bin skeared. I s'pose Mr. Wilderspin didn't go an' say the word "feyther" to her? I s'pose he didn't go an' ax her who her feyther was?'