“I shouldn’t wonder if you’re right,” said Warburton reflectively.  “In any case, I know as much about art as I do about the differential calculus.  To make money is a good and joyful thing as long as one. doesn’t bleed the poor.  So go ahead, my son, and luck be with you!”

“I can’t find my model yet for the Slummer’s head.  It mustn’t be too like the ‘Sanctuary’ girl, but at the same time it must be a popular type of beauty.  I’ve been haunting refreshment bars and florists’ shops; lots of good material, but never quite the thing.  There’s a damsel at the Crystal Palace—­but this doesn’t interest you, you old misogynist.”

“Old what?” exclaimed Warburton, with an air of genuine surprise.

“Have I got the word wrong?  I’m not much of a classic—­”

“The word’s all right.  But that’s your idea of me, is it?”

The artist stood and gazed at his friend with an odd expression, as if a joke had been arrested on his lips by graver thought.

“Isn’t it true?”

“Perhaps it is; yes, yes, I daresay.”

And he turned at once to another subject.

CHAPTER 3

The year was 1886.

When at business, Warburton sat in a high, bare room, which looked upon little Ailie Street, in Whitechapel; the air he breathed had a taste and odour strongly saccharine.  If his eye strayed to one of the walls, he saw a map of the West Indies; if to another, it fell upon a map of St. Kitts; if to the third, there was before him a plan of a sugar estate on that little island.  Here he sat for certain hours of the solid day, issuing orders to clerks, receiving commercial callers, studying trade journals in sundry languages—­ often reading some book which had no obvious reference to the sugar-refining industry.  It was not Will’s ideal of life, but hither he had suffered himself to be led by circumstance, and his musings suggested no practicable issue into a more congenial world.

The death of his father when he was sixteen had left him with a certain liberty for shaping a career.  What he saw definitely before him was a small share in the St. Kitts property of Messrs. Sherwood Brothers, a small share in the London business of the same firm, and a small sum of ready money—­these things to be his when he attained his majority.  His mother and sister, who lived in a little country house down in Huntingdonshire, were modestly but securely provided for, and Will might have gone quietly on with his studies till he could resolve upon a course in life.  But no sooner was he freed from paternal restraint than the lad grew restive; nothing would please him but an adventure in foreign lands; and when it became clear that he was only wasting his time at school, Mrs. Warburton let him go to the West Indies, where a place was found for him in the house of Sherwood Brothers.  At St. Kitts, Will remained till he was one-and-twenty.  Long before that, he had grown heartily tired of his work disgusted with the climate, and oppressed with home sickness, but pride forbade him to return until he could do so as a free man.