together, once more?"

Aaron King laughed--as a boy who has prepared a surprise, and has been
struggling manfully to keep the secret until the proper moment should
arrive. Placing his hand on the older man's shoulder, he answered
meaningly, "I had planned that _we_ would move in the morning." At the
other's puzzled expression he laughed again.

"We?" said the novelist, facing his friend, quickly.

"Come here," returned the other. "I must show you something you haven't
seen."

He led the way to a room that they had decided he would not need, and the
door of which was locked. Taking a key from his pocket, he handed it to
his friend.

"What's this?" said the older man, looking foolishly at the key in his
hand.

"It's the key to that door," returned the other, with a gleeful chuckle.
Then--"Unlock it."

"Unlock it?"

"Sure--that's what I gave you the key for."

Conrad Lagrange obeyed. Through the open door, he saw, not the bare and
empty room he supposed was there, but a bedroom--charmingly furnished,
complete in every detail. Turning, he faced his companion silently,
inquiringly--with a look that Aaron King had never before seen in those
strange, baffling eyes.

"It's yours"--said the artist, hastily--"if you care to come. You'll have
a free hand here, you know; for I will be in the studio much of the time.
Kee will cook the things you like. You and Czar can come and go as you
will. There is the arbor in the rose garden, you know, and see here"--he
stepped to the window--"I chose this room for you, because it looks out
upon your mountains."

The strange man stood at the window for, what seemed to the artist, a long
time. Suddenly, he turned to say sharply, "Young man, why did you do
this?"

"Why"--stammered the other, disconcerted--"because I want you--because I
thought you would like to come. I beg your pardon--if I have made a
mistake--but surely, no harm has been done."

"And you think you could stand living with me--for any length of time?"

The' painter laughed with relief. "Oh, _that's_ it! I didn't know you had
such a tender conscience. You scared me for a minute, I should think you
would know by this time that you can't phase me with your wicked tongue."

The novelist's face twisted into a grotesque smile. "I warn you--I will
flay you and your friends just the same. You need it for the good of your
soul."

"As often and as hard as you like"--returned the other, heartily--"just so
it's for the