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Updated: May 10, 2025
The black-bearded artist in the paint-smeared holland blouse was in no manner proof against Lady Jocelyn's fascinations. He had well-nigh suffocated himself with dust half-a-dozen times already in her service, and was ready to inhale as much more dust if she desired him so to do. "We won't give it up just yet, Lady Jocelyn," he said, cheerfully; "there's a couple of shelves still to examine.
He discarded his paint-smeared blouse he had worn one since his Paris days and, getting quickly into white flannel and a river hat, he lit a briar pipe and went forth whistling to meet his fate. He was fond of walking, and he knew every foot of old Chiswick by heart.
He hadn't dropped dead and he hadn't had a fit, and here was one of the things a man did when he valeted you he got your bath ready. A hasty recollection of the much-used, paint-smeared tin bath on the fourth floor of Mrs. Bowse's boarding- house sprang up before him. Everybody had to use it in turn, and you waited hours for the chance to make a dash into it.
It made her wholly forget that the man before her was an evil-looking native of whom she knew nothing whatever. With sudden impulse she turned and bestowed her full confidence upon him, the paint-smeared face and mumbling beard notwithstanding. "You must help me," she said imperiously. "You have done so much. You must do more. Tell me how I am to get back to Kundaghat."
While his brushes flicked at, and streaked across, the canvas she stood idly watching him. He was in paint-smeared, baggy trousers and a soft shirt whose open collar gave a glimpse of a deep chest matted with hair and whose rolled-up sleeves revealed forearms that seemed absurdly large to be fiddling with those slender sticks. A crowbar would have seemed more in harmony.
Hallam Bean was a good runnin' mate for him, for she has her hair boxed and wears paint-smeared smocks. Only she's a shy actin', quiet little thing, and real modest. There's no doubt whatever but that she has decided that F. Hallam is going to be a great painter some day. When she ain't sayin' as much she's lookin' it; and Hallam, I suspect, is always ready to make the vote unanimous.
The first took him up the altar-steps; the second took him onto the altar; the third took him up into the stained-glass window. And there he turned and faced me. His paint-smeared robes fell down about his bare legs, his convulsed and angry face became as gentle and compassionate as the paint would permit. With a wave of his hand, he signalled me to stand back and let him alone.
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