midday
Hunt perceived that this daring , world-defying , embryonically beautiful model of his had idealized the homecoming nephew of the Duchess into her especial hero . Hunt said no more , but painted rapidly . Night had fallen outside , and long since he had switched on the electric lights . He seemed not at all finicky in this matter of light ; he had no supposedly indispensable north light , and midday or midnight were almost equally apt to find him slashing with brush or scratching with crayon . Presently the Duchess entered . No word was spoken . The Duchess , noteworthy for her mastery of silence , sank into a chair , a bent and shrunken image , nothing seemingly alive about her but her faintly gleaming , deep-set eyes .