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Updated: June 29, 2025
Blencarn, it is a bit frittish, he answered. 'I've jest bin gittin' a few lambs off t'fell. I hope ye're keepin' fairly, an' Miss Rosa too. He spoke briefly, with a loud, spontaneous cordiality. 'Thank ye, Anthony, thank ye. Rosa's down at the church, playing over the hymns for tomorrow. How's Mrs. Garstin? 'Nicely, thank ye, Mr. Blencarn. She's wonderful active, is mother.
We English people have effected that curious introduction, and we greatly pride ourselves upon it. We have presented Sir William Garstin, and Mr. John Blue, and Mr. Fitz Maurice, and other clever, hard-working men to the fabled Lady of Philae, and they have given her a gift: a dam two thousand yards in length, upon which tourists go smiling on trolleys.
"I can hardly say that!" said Sir Seymour, looking suddenly, Garstin thought, remarkably like a very well-bred ramrod. "Well, then " "But it may be necessary." He hesitated obviously, then added: "If it should be Arabian by chance, perhaps it would be as well if I did see him." "Just as you like."
He said nothing more, and she did not speak till they had crossed the broad road and were on the path by the dark river, which flowed at full tide under a heavy blackish grey sky. Then Arabian spoke again, and the peculiar softness she had noticed that afternoon had gone out of his voice. "I am fortunate, am I not," he said, "to be the possessor of that very fine picture by Dick Garstin?
"I couldn't exactly say that." "Do you hate him?" "No." Garstin suddenly looked almost maliciously sly. "I can tell you something that you feel about him." "What?" "You are afraid of him." Miss Van Tuyn's silky fair skin reddened. "I'm not afraid of anyone," she retorted. "If I have one virtue, I think it's courage." "You're certainly not a Miss Nancy as a rule.
And how angry she had been afterwards! Garstin smiled as he remembered her anger. But she had looked wonderful. She might be worth painting presently. He did not really care to paint a Ceres. But she was rapidly losing the Ceres look. Before he went to bed he again stood in front of the scarcely begun sketch for the portrait of Arabian, and looked at it for a long time.
Ye know your mother will na have me at Hootsey.... I could na live there with your mother.... I'd sooner bear my trouble alone, as best I can.... She's that stern is Mrs. Garstin. I couldn't look her in the face.... I can go away somewhere.... I could keep it all from uncle. Her colour came and went: she stood before him, looking away from him, dully, out of the window.
And all that was said in the studio from that moment remained firmly fixed in his memory. Garstin got up to fetch some more whisky for Arabian, whose glass was now empty, and as he came back with the decanter he said to Arabian: "Sir Seymour's had a good look at your portrait, Arabian." "Indeed!" said Arabian. "And he thinks it's damn fine.
Jinks you know the Slade Jinks is coming to pick me up. You'll forgive me, Sir Seymour?" His voice was unusually gentle as he said the last words. "Of course. I've stayed an unconscionable time. Are you going my way, Mr. Arabian?" Garstin's mouth twitched. Before Arabian could reply, Garstin said: "Look here, Arabian!" "Yes please?" said Arabian.
"What's the matter?" was Sir Seymour's unconventional greeting to him. For the painter's face was flushed in patches and his small eyes glowed fiercely. "Who's this?" he said, looking at Sir Seymour's companion. "Detective Inspector Horridge Mr. Dick Garstin," said Sir Seymour. "Oh, come to see the picture! Well, you're too late!" said Garstin in a harsh voice. "Too late!"
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