tch him when he first sees it."

When the artist found Conrad Lagrange and told him that the picture was
finished, the novelist, without comment, turned his attention to Czar.

The painter, with an amused smile, asked, "Won't you come for a look at
it, old man?"

The other returned gruffly, "Thanks; but I don't think I care to risk it."

The artist laughed. "But Miss Andres wants you to come. She sent me to
fetch you."

Conrad Lagrange turned his peculiar, baffling eyes upon the young man.
"Does _she_ like it?"

"She seems to."

"If she _seems_ to, she does," retorted the other, rising. "And that's
different."

When the novelist, with his three friends, stood before the easel, he was
silent for so long that the girl said anxiously, "I--I thought you would
like it, Mr. Lagrange."

They saw the strange man's eyes fill with tears as he answered, in the
gentle tones that always marked his words to her, "Like it? My dear child,
how could I help liking it? It is you--you!" To the artist, he added, "It
is great work, my boy, great! I--I wish your mother could have seen it. It
is like her--as I knew her. You have done well." He turned, with gentle
courtesy, to Myra Willard; "And you? What is your verdict, Miss Willard?"

With her arm around the beautiful original of the portrait, the woman with
the disfigured face answered, "I think, sir, that I, better than any one
in all the world, know how good, how true, it is."

Conrad Lagrange spoke again to the artist, inquiringly; "You will exhibit
it?"

"Miss Andres says that I may--but not as a portrait."

The novelist could not conceal his pleasure at the answer. Presently, he
said, "If it is not to be shown as a portrait, may I suggest a title?"

"I was hoping you would!" exclaimed the painter.

"And so was I," cried Sibyl, with delight. "What is it, Mr. Lagrange?"

"Let it be exhibited as 'The Spirit of Nature--A Portrait'," answered
Conrad Lagrange.

As the novelist finished speaking, Yee Kee appeared in the doorway. "They
come--big automobile. Whole lot people. Misse Taine, Miste' Lutlidge, sick
man, whole lot--I come tell you."

The artist spoke quickly,--"Stop them in the house, Kee; I'll be right
in,"--and the Chinaman vanished.

At Yee Kee's announcement, Myra Willard's face went white, and she gave a
low cry.

"Never mind, dear," said the girl, soothingly. "We can slip away through
the garden--come."

When Sibyl and the woman with the disfigured fa