“Why does that man always look so crossly at you?” enquired Suzee, as we were walking down the passage to our rooms.

“He does not approve of my wickedness in having you here,” I answered laughing.  “He thinks a man must never be with any woman but his wife.”

“And has he a wife?”

“Yes, that great creature you saw sitting in the glass desk downstairs.”

Suzee threw up her chin and pursed up her soft blue-red lips.

“I know that man by sight quite well.  He was always down with the girls in Chinatown.  He was one of Nanine’s best customers.”

I laughed as I put the key in, and opened our door.

“That accounts then, quite, for his terrific propriety in his hotel,” I answered.  “It’s always the way.  You can tell the really vicious person by his affected horror of vice.”

We dined upstairs, and directly after dinner I got her to pose for me that I might catch the first idea for my picture “The Joy of the East.”

She still shewed an apparently unconquerable objection to any undraped study, so I did not press it, but told her to dress as she had been dressed the previous night, in blue and mauve with silver ornaments, and I would take her in that.

While she was arraying herself I sat back in my chair, thinking.

How strange it was that a girl like Viola, who I believed would have been burnt alive rather than let an untruth pass her lips, who could not possibly have done a dishonourable action, had posed for me so simply and fearlessly, viewing the whole matter from that artistic standpoint which is so lofty because so really pure; and this girl, whose soul, as I knew, was full of trickery and treachery, and whose lips were worn with lies, clothed herself about with this ridiculous prudery and imagined it was modesty!

She came back presently, wonderfully lovely in the bizarre Oriental costume, and I wanted her to stand on tiptoe, leaning towards me and laughing.

But she was not a good model; she soon grew tired and failed to keep the same pose or expression.  She fidgeted so, that at last I laid the paper aside.

“Your expression won’t go with that title,” I said.  “What is the matter?  Can’t you stand still and look happy for fifteen minutes?”

“It’s so tiring to stand quite still,” she said crossly, and my heart reproached me as I thought of Viola and the hours she had stood for me without a word of complaint in the London studio!

“Well, I’ll try another picture.  I shall call it ’The Spoiled Favourite of the Harem,’ Throw yourself into that chair and look as cross as you like.”

Suzee sat down opposite me.  I put her head back against the chair; her right arm hung over the side, in her left hand she held a cigarette, one foot was bent under her, the other swung listlessly to the ground.

Her expression, restless and dissatisfied, her attitude, weary and enervated, gave the idea of the title admirably, and I made a good sketch.