— 12 —Mrs. Sacret approved of the litter in her once neat parlor; the painting stand with the shallow drawers, the deal table laden with portfolios, crayons, sketchbooks and pans of color, the light easel and the large chair with the horsehair cushion, placed in the corner, firmly on a stout wooden box, with brass corners and padlock.
Mr. Bellis said that this room was suitable for sketches and drawings to be made in a plain or garden light, after the manner of a map or heraldic design. Upstairs he had stored his oils and canvases.
“You want to know who I am,” he added with his cool smile. “And I think you are the only person in London who cares. So I’ll tell you. But you must look at me, please. I can’t draw you with your eyes always downcast.”
She raised her brilliant hazel glance and
