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 work, whatever it might be, and not make a fool of himself! At all events, nothing was to be gained by grumbling at Fate.

When he got back to the studio Hunter was just sitting down to luncheon. Miles took his place at the table, trying to behave as though the very bottom of things hadn't suddenly fallen out. Hunter eyed him furtively, but asked no questions. He knew Miles pretty well. After the meal was done the two men lighted their pipes. Hunter dragged a pile of old canvases out of a cupboard and began sorting them over. Miles threw himself on the long window-seat and Bistre climbed to his lap. The nasturtiums in the box outside waved their green disks of leaves in the breeze. At last Miles sat up and scraped the tobacco from his bowl.