Above the fireplace hung a largish sketch — it was little more than that — of a man of about thirty-five in mediaeval dress, with a hood that he was in the act of pushing away from his face. The face was arresting. It had great purity of form, being wide across the eyes and heart-shaped. The mouth, in particular, was of a most subtle character, perfectly masculine but drawn with extreme delicacy. It was well done: it had both strength and refinement Yet it was not these qualities that disturbed Martyn. Reflected in the glass that covered the picture she saw her own face lying ghost-wise across the other; their forms intermingled like those in a twice-exposed photograph. It seemed to Martyn that her companion must be looking over her shoulder at this double image and she moved away from him and nearer to the picture. The reflection disappeared. Something was written faintly in one corner of the sketch. She drew closer and saw that it was a single word: Everyman.

“Spittin’ image of ’im, ain’t it?” said the night-watchman behind her.

“I don’t know,” she said quickly. “Is it?”

“Is it! Don’t you know the Guv’nor when you see ’im?”

“The Governor?”

“ ’Strewth you’re a caution and no error. Don’t you know who owns this show? That’s the great Mr. Adam Poole, that is.”

“Oh,” she murmured after a pause, and added uneasily: “I’ve seen him in the pictures, of course.”

“Go on!” he jeered. “Where would that be? Australia? Fancy!”

He had been very kind to her, but she found his remorseless vein of irony exasperating. It would have been easier and less tedious to have let it go but she found herself embarked on an explanation. Of course she knew all about Mr. Adam Poole, she said. She’d seen his photograph in the foyer. All his pictures had been shown in New Zealand. She knew he was the most distinguished of the younger contemporary actor-managers. She was merely startled by the painting because… But it was impossible to explain why the face in the painting disturbed her and the unfinished phrase trailed away into an embarrassed silence.