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“What can this fellow have come for?” he asked himself.

Bernardo greeted Roberto and began crossing the studio from one side to the other.

“You’ve come rather early. Anything the matter?” asked Hasting.

“My boy,” muttered Santín, coming to a sudden stop, “I’ve got serious news for you.”

“What’s up?”

“I’m getting married.”

“You getting married!”

“Yes.”

“To whom?”

“To whom do you suppose? A woman, of course.”

“I should imagine so. But have you gone mad?”

“Why?”

“How are you going to support your wife?”

“Why.... I earn something at my painting!”

“What can you earn! A mere pittance.”

“That’s what you think.... Besides, my sweetheart gives lessons.”

“And you intend to live off her.... Now I understand.”

“No, no, sir. I haven’t any intention of making her work for me. I’m going to open a photographer’s studio.”

“Photographer’s studio! You! Why, you don’t know the first thing about it!”

“Nothing. I know nothing, according to you. Well, there are stupider asses than me in the picture business. I don’t imagine it takes a genius to be a photographer.”