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Updated: June 29, 2025
Garstin gave him a strong grip. "Glad I've met you!" he said. "Beryl's done me a good turn." "Perhaps you will allow me to say though I'm no expert, and my opinion may therefore have no value in your eyes but you've painted a portrait such as one very seldom sees nowadays." "D'you mean you think it's fine?" "Very fine! Wonderful!" Garstin's usually hard face softened in an extraordinary way.
Dick Garstin, the famous painter, a small, slight, clean-shaven man, who looked like an intellectual jockey with his powerful curved nose, thin, close-set lips, blue cheeks and prominent, bony chin, and who fostered the illusion deliberately by dressing in large-checked suits of a sporting cut, with big buttons and mighty pockets, kept on steadily drinking green chartreuse and smoking small, almost black, cigars.
What did it matter if Fanny thought this and Alick Craven that? What did it matter what anyone thought but herself? But she was surely confused, was walking in the clouds. Dick Garstin had given her a lead that night of the meeting of the Georgians. She had certainly been affected by his words. Perhaps he had even infected her with his thought. Thought can infect, and Garstin had a powerful mind.
<b>BUTLER, MILDRED A.</b> Associate of the Royal Society of Painters in Water-Colors and of the Society of Lady Artists. Pupil of Naftel, Calderon, and Garstin. Has exhibited at the Royal Academy and New Gallery. Her picture called the "Morning Bath," exhibited at the Academy in 1896, was purchased under the Chantry Bequest and is in the Tate Gallery. It is a water-color, valued at £50.
So he took the contrary course. He forced himself to hold out his hand to the beast, and said: "Well good-night!" But Arabian did not take his hand. "Oh, but please come in for a moment!" he said. "Why to away?" "It's getting late." "But I will not keep you long. Dick Garstin said you should judge between us, that I was to come to-morrow and tell him. I know you will say I have the right. Come up.
Of the original members of the mess there are, so far as I know, only four alive. These are Mr. George Paton, Norman Garstin, Hugh McLeod, and myself. I well remember one Saturday midnight when the Rhodeses, Campbell, Fairlie, Garstin, and I returned from a mild spree at Du Toit's Pan.
Here Garstin worked on his portraits, and here she expected to come face to face with the living bronze. As she drew near to the entrance of the studio she felt positive that he was waiting for her. But when she reached it and looked quickly and expectantly round she saw at once that the great room was empty.
Arabian made some remarkably cute remarks about the portraits, Dick," she said in reply to the glance. "I care for a fine painting so much that really I do not know how to refuse the temptation you offer me Dick Garstin." Garstin poured himself out another whisky. "I'll start on it to-morrow," he said, staring hard at the man who had now become definitely his subject.
He had told her that Arabian was in love with her. Was that true? Even now she was not sure. That was part of the reason why she was not quite at ease with Arabian. She was not sure of anything about him except that he was marvellously handsome. But Garstin was piercingly sharp. What he asserted about anyone was usually the fact. He could hardly be mistaken.
In the strong light of the studio Garstin's unusual appearance of fatigue was more noticeable, and Miss Van Tuyn could not help saying: "What on earth have you been doing, Dick? You always seem made of iron. But to-day you look like an ordinary man who has been dissipating." "I played poker all night," said Garstin. "With Arabian?" "And two other fellows picked them up at the Cafe Royal."
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