He had an instinct
for colour, but his drawing was uncertain. He hated linework, while
knowing that only through steady practice at linework could he achieve
his artistic salvation. He was an amateur, and a lazy amateur.
But once in a while the work fever would grip him. It had gripped him a
few days before Hank's visit. An idea for a picture had come to him,
and he had set to work upon it with his usual impulsiveness.
This had involved the arrival of Miss Hilda Vince at the studio. There
was no harm in Miss Vince. Her morals were irreproachable. She
supported a work-shy father, and was engaged to be married to a young
gentleman who travelled for a hat firm. But she was of a chatty
disposition and no respecter of persons. She had posed frequently for
Kirk in his bachelor days, and was accustomed to call him by his first
name--a fact which Kirk had forgotten until Ruth, who had been out in
the park, came in.
Miss Vince was saying at the moment: "So I says to her, 'Kirk's just
phoned to me to sit.' 'What! Kirk!' she says. 'Is _he_ doin' a bit
of work for a change? Well, it's about time.' 'Aw, Kirk don't need to
work,' I says. 'He's a plute. He's got it in gobs.' So----"
"I didn't know you were busy, dear," said Ruth. "I won't interrupt
you."
She went out.
"Was that your wife?" inquired Miss Vince.
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