Behind, a costermonger, out of work, sprawled on the curbstone, viewing the invader; he, with resentful eye, his lip suggestive of words unreportable.

Where the face of the central figure should have shone, the canvas still remained blank.
"I'm afraid he's worried about _her_," said the landlady, when she had lit the gas, and stood with Warburton surveying the picture.

"He can't find a model good-looking enough.

I say to Mr.Franks why not make it the portrait of his own young lady?
I'm sure _she's_ good-looking enough for anything and--" Whilst speaking, the woman had turned to look at a picture on the wall.
Words died upon her lips; consternation appeared in her face; she stood with finger extended.

Warburton, glancing where he was accustomed to see the portrait of Rosamund Elvan, also felt a shock.