The of the place, having pushed to the street the little man, who may have been the most , came again and resumed the discussion with the remainder of the men of war. Many of these had volunteered, and they were very enduring.  
"Yes, you are gone," said Hollanden, with the sobriety of graves in his voice. "You are gone.—Hi!" he cried, "there is Lucian Pontiac.—Hi, Pontiac! Sit down here."
 
A man with a of hair, and with that about his mouth which showed that he had spent many years in manufacturing a proper with which to bear his greatness, came toward them, smiling.
 
"Hello, Pontiac!" said Hollanden. "Here's another great painter. Do you know Mr. Hawker?—Mr. William Hawker—Mr. Pontiac."
 
"Mr. Hawker—delighted," said Pontiac. "Although I have not known you personally, I can assure you that I have long been a great admirer of your abilities."
 
The proprietor of the place and the men of war had at length agreed to come to an understanding. They drank liquors, while each firmly, but now silently, upheld his dignity.
 
"Charming place," said Pontiac. "So Parisian in spirit. And from time to time, Mr. Hawker, I use one of your models. Must say she has the best arm and wrist in the universe. figure—stunning!"
 
"You mean Florinda?" said Hawker.
 
"Yes, that's the name. Very fine girl. Lunches with me from time to time and so volubly. That's how I learned you posed her occasionally. If the models didn't gossip we would never know what painters were to profanity. Now that old Thorndike—he told me you swore like a drill-sergeant if the model a finger at the critical time. Very fine girl, Florinda. And honest, too—honest as the devil. Very curious thing. Of course honesty among the girl models is very common, very common—quite universal thing, you know—but then it always strikes me as being very curious, very curious. I've been much attracted by your girl Florinda."
 
"My girl?" said Hawker.
 
"Well, she always............