“I think,” he said, “that I am right. She felt sleepy and unusually irritable. Instantly she seized the poker and made a desperate effort to get them out again. He stared at the woman depicted thereon for a long moment, awe in his head. Her husband finally relented. He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention. He would never be able to compose upon it, but it would serve to produce the finished work.
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