errand would have been difficult enough under the best of circumstances:

placed between Myner, immersed in his art, and the white, fat, naked

female in a ridiculous attitude, I found it quite impossible. Again and

again I attempted to approach the point, again and again fell back on

commendations of the picture; and it was not until the model had enjoyed

an interval of repose, during which she took the conversation in her

own hands and regaled us (in a soft, weak voice) with details as to her

husband's prosperity, her sister's lamented decline from the paths

of virtue, and the consequent wrath of her father, a peasant of stern

principles, in the vicinity of Chalons on the Marne;--it was not, I say,

until after this was over, and I had once more cleared my throat for

the attack, and once more dropped aside into some commonplace about the

picture, that Myner himself brought me suddenly and vigorously to the

point.

"You didn't come here to talk this rot," said he.

"No," I replied sullenly; "I came to borrow money."

He painted awhile in silence.

"I don't think we were ever very intimate?" he asked.

"Thank you," said I. "I can take my answer," and I made as if to go,

rage boiling in my heart.

"Of course you can go if you like," said Myner; "but I advise you to

stay and have it out."

"What more is there to say?" I cried. "You don't want to keep me here

for a needless humiliation?"

"Look here, Dodd, you must try and command your temper," said he. "This

interview is of your own seeking, and not mine; if you suppose it's not

disagreeable to me, you're wrong; and if you think I will give you money

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