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Updated: June 29, 2025
And underneath all her feelings and thoughts there was a basic excitement which troubled her and which she could not get rid of. One morning she got up full of restlessness. That day Dick Garstin was not painting. It was a Sunday, and he had gone into the country to stay with some friends. Miss Van Tuyn had made no arrangement to see Arabian.
"May I shall I be in the way if I turn back with you for a few steps?" he ventured, with the sort of side glance at Garstin that a male dog gives to another male dog while walking round and round on a first meeting. "It is such a pleasure to see you." Here he threw very definite admiration into the eyes which he fixed on Miss Van Tuyn. She responded automatically and begged him to accompany them.
She shaded her eyes with her hand and said: "That's the St. Agnes' lugger from the Bishop, and if we go down to the pier now we shall meet it." We walked down to the pier. The first person to step on shore was Leopold, with the Trinity House buttons on his pilot coat. "He's the third hand on the Bishop now," said Mrs. Garstin. "You are surprised?"
"I've got it, Smith," said Garstin, interrupting in the quiet even voice of one who had been indulging an undisturbed process of steady thought, and who now announced the definite conclusion reached. "I have it. Frank Dicksee is the man!"
I always had suspicions, but I trampled them down. Dick Garstin told me, but I would not listen. Dick Garstin showed me what he was." "How could he?" "He did. It's there in the studio that horrible picture, the real man, the man I couldn't see. But I must always have known what he was. Something in me must always have known!" She seemed to make a violent effort to recover her self-control.
The first shock of astonishment, and almost of horror, had passed. She was more sharply conscious now of Garstin in connexion with herself. At last she spoke again. "Of course you realize, Dick, that such a portrait as that is an outrage. It's a master work, I believe, but it is an outrage. You cannot exhibit it." "But I shall. This man, Arabian, isn't known." "How can we tell that?"
As she reached the door she turned her smart, impudent head and covered Miss Van Tuyn with an appraising look, cold, keen, vicious in its detached intensity, a look such as only a woman can send to another woman. Then she went out, followed by Raoul, who seemed rather agitated, and whose back looked appealing. "Black hair with blue lights in it!" said Garstin. "What a beauty!"
Soon afterwards Arabian got up and said he must go. As he said this he looked pleadingly at Miss Van Tuyn. But she sat still in her chair, a cigarette between her lips. He said "good-bye" to her formally. Garstin went down with Arabian to let him out, and was away for three or four minutes.
"Nothing to fear now for the old section," he remarked cheerfully. "Nothing but the unexpected collapse of a pile," said Garstin. "Oh, that's impossible." "It's improbable." The report was finished and placed in its long envelope, and they prepared to go home. Trevannion began to busy himself with a heavy oil lantern.
She might have been in that spacious room, too, if she had not been stupid. "I want to ask you something about Lady Sellingworth," she continued. "Come a little nearer." Garstin shifted his chair. "But I don't know her," he said, rumpling his hair with an air of boredom. "An old society woman! What's the good of that to me? What have I to do with dowagers? Bow wow dowagers! Even Rembrandt "
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