Lawrence always saw a great deal whenever he looked any where.
Perhaps he perceived the secret dissatisfaction and feeling of sudden alarm which, without any apparent reason, Arthur felt as he looked at Abel.
But the longer Arthur Merlin looked at Abel the more curiously perplexed he was.

The feeling which, if he had not been a painter so utterly devoted to his profession that all distractions were impossible, might have been called a nascent jealousy, was gradually merged in a half-consciousness that he had somewhere seen Abel Newt before, but where, and under what circumstances, he could not possibly remember.
He watched him steadily, puzzling himself to recall that face.
Suddenly he clapped his hand upon the table.

Lawrence Newt, who was looking at him, saw the perplexity of his expression smooth itself away; while Arthur Merlin, with an "oh!" of surprise, satisfaction, and alarm, exclaimed--and his color changed-- "Why, it's Manfred in the Coliseum!" Lawrence Newt was confounded.

Was Arthur, then, not deceiving himself, after all?
Did he really take an interest in all these people only as a painter, and think of them merely as subjects for pictures?
Lawrence Newt was troubled.

He had seen in Arthur with delight what he supposed the unconscious beginnings of affection for Hope Wayne.