It was the afternoon following the events related in the previous chapter. The two speakers who were in such serious conversation stood in a shabby studio in Fitzroy Square gravely contemplating one another.

John Egerton, the owner of the place was a successful artist, whose works sold well, whose black and white ill.u.s.trations were much sought after by magazine proprietors, and whose Academy pictures had brought him some amount of notoriety. His success was well deserved, for, after a rather wild student life on the Continent, he was now exceedingly industrious. Art was his hobby, and he had but little pleasure outside the walls of his studio. Though discarding a collar, and attired negligently in a paint-besmirched coat very much the worse for wear, a pair of trousers much bespattered, and feet thrust into slippers, yet his face spoke of genius and indomitable perseverance, with its deep grey eyes, firm, yet tender mouth, and general expression of power and independence.

His visitor, Hugh Trethowen, was of a different type--handsome, and perhaps a trifle more refined. A splendid specimen of manhood, with his fine height and strongly-built frame, well-cut Saxon features, and bright colouring, with laughing blue eyes, the earnest depths of which were rendered all the more apparent by the thoughtful, preoccupied look which his countenance wore.

A young girl, undeniably beautiful, with a good complexion, stood watching them. She was dressed in a bright but becoming costume of the harem, and had, until the arrival of Trethowen, been posing to the artist. Upon the easel was a full length canvas almost complete--a marvellous likeness, representing her laughing face, with its clear brown eyes, and her bare white arms swinging the scimitars over her head in the undulating motion of the Circa.s.sian dance.

Besides acting in the capacity of model, Dolly Vivian was the artist's companion, critic and friend. Among the brethren of the brush she was well-known as a quiet, patient, un.o.btrusive girl, who, with commendable self-sacrifice, had supported her mother and invalid sister by her earnings. Egerton had become acquainted with her years ago, long before he became known to fame, at a time when his studio was an attic in a street off the Edgware Road, when he used frequently to eat but one meal a day, and had often shared that with her. She was his friend and benefactor then, as now. When times were hard and money scarce, she would give him sittings and accept no payment, or, if she did, she would spend the greater portion in the necessaries of life, which she would convey to his sky parlour on the following morning.

This platonic friendship, which sprang up in days of hardship and disappointment, had been preserved in affluence. From her model the rising artist had painted most of the pictures that had brought him renown, and he acknowledged the debt of grat.i.tude by making her his confidante. It was not surprising, therefore, that at his studio she conducted herself as if thoroughly at home, nor that she should be well acquainted with such a constant visitor as Hugh Trethowen.

When, however, the two men commenced so momentous a question, she felt that her presence was not desired, so busied herself, with a good deal of unnecessary noise, with the teacups which stood on a small table beside the easel.

Suddenly she raised her handsome head, and, looking at Egerton, said:

"If you are talking of private matters, I will go and rest until you are ready to recommence."

The artist glanced inquiringly at his friend.

"There is no necessity for leaving us, Dolly," said Trethowen. "We are all three old friends, and my purpose in coming here this afternoon is to spend an hour with you for the last time."

"The last time!" she echoed in dismay. "Why--are you going away?"

He did not answer for a moment. His eyes were fixed upon the girl's face, and his lips trembled a little under the shadow of his fair moustache. Could he really muster up courage to tell them of his intention? He hesitated, then he replied, firmly enough:

"By an unfortunate combination of circ.u.mstances I am compelled to leave all my friends. I much regret it, but it cannot be avoided."

The men had seated themselves, and the pretty model was pouring tea into three dainty little cups.

Egerton frowned impatiently.

"This sort of talk isn't like you, Hugh, and it sounds bad. Surely you don't contemplate leaving us altogether?"

"I must--I cannot remain."

"Why?"

"I've already told you. I'm ruined."

"Ruined--good G.o.d--you're joking! But even if you are--confound it--why should you go? Other men have got on their legs again."

"I never shall," Trethowen replied sadly. "It's impossible."

"If you'll tell us about it," said the artist persuasively, "we can judge for ourselves."

"Well, briefly told, the facts are these, old fellow. You are aware I'm only the younger son, and that on my father's death my elder brother, Douglas, with whom I've not been on friendly terms for several years, succeeded to the estate."

The other nodded acquiescence.

"My father undoubtedly meant well," Hugh continued, "for he left me some property yielding nearly five hundred a year. Upon this I lived for five years, but--"

"And what more could you expect?" interrupted his friend. "Surely that's enough for a bachelor to live upon?"

"It would have been, I admit," he replied despondently. "Unfortunately, I have been compelled to dispose of the property."

"Why?"

"To temporarily satisfy my hungry creditors."

"Are they numerous?"

"Numerous! Why, they're so plentiful that, by Jove, I've never troubled to count 'em."

"But how have you become so entangled?"

"The usual method is responsible, old chap--tempting fortune," he replied bitterly. "The fact is, things have been going wrong for a long time past, and I've disposed of all I'm worth in an endeavour to settle up honourably. It's no use, however--I've sunk deeper and deeper into the mire, until the only means by which to extricate myself is to go right away. Dunned on every side, with county court summonses descending in showers, the Hebrew Shylocks who hold me in their accursed clutches seem to be taking a delight in crushing me out of existence."

The artist was mute with astonishment. He had always considered his friend very lucky in having ample means at his command, and had never imagined he was in such straits.

"Then, as I understand, you've had to go to the Jews, and they've foreclosed," he said, after silently contemplating the canvas before him.

"Exactly," Hugh replied. "Think. What can a fellow do when he's about town like I've been? He must necessarily follow the example of others on the course and in the clubs, if he doesn't wish to be ranked with outsiders. As an instance, I lost over the St. Leger a clear eight hundred."

"Whew! If that's the case, I'm at a loss to give advice," exclaimed Egerton gravely.

"It would be of no a.s.sistance," he said. "Like an a.s.s, I've run through all I possess, with the exception of a bare couple of pounds a week. I must therefore drag out an existence in one of those dismal old continental towns that seem to be provided as harbours of refuge for unfortunate fellows like myself. I'm truly sorry to leave you both, but needs must when the devil drives."

"Why not remain here? If you are hard hit, I can see no reason why you should bury yourself," contended the artist thoughtfully.

"No, Mr. Trethowen," added Dolly, gazing into her teacup in a vain endeavour to hide the tears that stood in her eyes, "don't leave us.

Why, Mr. Egerton would not have half the spirit for his work if you didn't run in now and then and make him laugh."

"I--I cannot remain," he replied hesitatingly. "You see, I'm utterly incapable of making a fresh start in life, for I've no profession.

Besides, there's a much stronger reason for my departure. It's absolutely imperative."

His face was lined with pain and sorrow, as he drew a deep sigh, the index to a heavy heart.

"What's the reason?" demanded his friend, glancing sharply at him.

"Because, if I don't get away almost immediately I shall find myself arrested."

"Arrested?"

He nodded, but for a few moments no words escaped his lips.

"Yes, Jack, old fellow, I'm in a terrible fix," he replied in a gloomy tone unusual to him. "I'll confide in you because I can trust you.

Three months ago I was hard pressed for money, and seeing a dishonest way of obtaining it, I yielded to the temptation of the moment. I imitated a signature, and drew a thousand pounds."

"Forgery!" the artist exclaimed, dumbfounded.