good of my soul. You will come?"

"You will permit me to stand my share of the expense?"

"Anything you like--if you will only come."

The older man said gently,--for the first time calling the artist by his
given name,--"Aaron, I believe that you are the only person in the world
who would, really want me; and I _know_ that you are the only person in
the world to whom I would be grateful for such an invitation."

The artist was about to reply, when the big automobile stopped in front of
the house. Czar, on the porch, gave a low growl of disapproval; and,
through the open door, they saw Mr. Taine and his wife with James Rutlidge
and Louise.

The novelist said something, under his breath, that had a vicious
sound--quite unlike his words of the moment before. Czar, in disgust,
retreated to the shelter of Yee Kee's domain. With a laugh, the younger
man went out to meet his friends.

"Are you at home this afternoon, Sir Artist?" called Mrs. Taine, gaily, as
he went down the walk.

"I will always be at home to the right people," he answered, greeting the
other members of the party.

As they moved toward the house,--Mr. Taine choking and coughing, his
daughter chattering and exclaiming, and James Rutlidge critically
observing,--Mrs. Taine dropped a little back to Aaron King's side. "And
are you really established, at last?" she asked eagerly; with a charming,
confidential air.

"We move to-morrow morning," he answered.

"We?" she questioned.

"Conrad Lagrange and I. He is going to live with me, you know."

"Oh!"

It is remarkable how much meaning a woman can crowd into that one small
syllable; particularly, when she draws a little away from you as she
speaks it.

"Why," he murmured apologetically, "don't you approve?"

Mrs. Taine's beautiful eyebrows went up inquiringly--"And why should I
either approve or disapprove?"

The young man was saved by the arrival of his guests at the porch steps,
and by the appearance of Conrad Lagrange, in the doorway.

"How delightful!" exclaimed Mrs. Taine, heartily; as she, in turn, greeted
the famous novelist. "Mr. King was just telling me that you were going to
share this dear little place with him. I quite envy you both."

The others had passed into the house.

"You are sometimes guilty of saying twisty things yourself, aren't you?"
returned the man; and, as he spoke, his remarkable eyes were fixed upon
her as though reading her innermost thoughts.

She flushed unde