The studio was filled with the rich scent of roses, and when the light summer breeze blew through the garden trees, the heavy fragrance of lilacs or the subtler aroma of lemon verbena wafted in through the open door. (. . . )

In the center of the room, mounted on an upright easel, was the full-length portrait of a young man of extraordinary beauty, and in front of it, a little further away, sat the artist himself, Basil Hallward, whose sudden disappearance a few years ago had caused a great stir and led to a host of strange speculations. 

As the artist gazed at the graceful and beautiful figure he had so skillfully captured on the canvas, a smile of satisfaction crossed his face, and it seemed as if he wanted it to remain permanently painted there.