“And what does Miss Haim say to all this?” he asked, rather timidly and wildly.  It was a venturesome remark; it might well have been called an impertinence; but the mage of Marguerite was involved in all the workings of his mind, and it would not be denied expression.

Mr. Haim lifted his back from the mantelpiece sharply.  Then he hesitated, moving forward a little.

“Mr. Cannon,” he said, “it’s curious you should ask that.”  His voice trembled, and at the vibration George was suddenly apprehensive.  Mr. Haim had soon recovered from his original emotion, but now he seemed to be in danger of losing control of himself.

George nervously cleared his throat and apologized.

“I didn’t mean——­”

“I’d better tell you,” Mr. Haim interrupted him, rather loudly.  “We’ve just had a terrible scene with my daughter, a terrible scene!” He seldom referred to Marguerite by her Christian name, “Mr. Cannon, I had hoped to get through my life without a scandal, and especially an open scandal.  But it seems as if I shouldn’t—­if I know my daughter!  It was not my intention to say anything.  Far from it.  Outsiders ought not to be troubled....  I—­I like you, Mr. Cannon.  She left us a few minutes ago And as she didn’t put her hat on she must be either at the studio or at Agg’s....”

“She went out of the house?” George questioned awkwardly.

Mr. Haim nodded, and then without warning he dropped like an inert lump on to a chair and let his head fall on to his hand.

George was frightened as well as mystified.  The spectacle of the old man—­at one moment boasting ingenuously of his career, and at the next almost hysterical with woe—­roused his pity in a very disconcerting manner, and from his sight the Lucas & Enwright factotum vanished utterly, and was supplanted by a tragic human being.  But he had no idea how to handle the unexampled situation with dignity; he realized painfully his own lack of experience, and his over-mastering impulse was to get away while it was still possible to get away.  Moreover, he desired intensely to see and hear Marguerite.

“Perhaps I had better find out where she is,” he absurdly suggested, and departed from the room feeling like a criminal reprieved.

The old man did not stir.

II

“Can I come in?” said George, hatless, pushing open the door of the studio, which was ajar.

There were people in the bright and rather chilly studio, and none of them moved until the figure arriving out of the darkness was identified.  Mr. Prince, who in the far corner was apparently cleaning or adjusting his press, then came forward with a quiet, shy, urbane welcome.  Marguerite herself stood nearly under the central lamp, talking to Agg, who was seated.  The somewhat celebrated Agg immediately rose and said in her somewhat deep voice to Marguerite: 

“I must go.”