ce were gone, Conrad
Lagrange and Aaron King looked at each other, questioningly.

Then the novelist said harshly,--pointing to the picture on the
easel,--"You're not going to let that flock of buzzards feed on this, are
you? I'll murder some one, sure as hell, if you do."

"I don't think I could stand it, myself," said the artist, laughing
grimly, as he drew the velvet curtain to hide the portrait.

Chapter XXVII

The Answer

When Aaron King and Conrad Lagrange entered the house to meet their
callers from Fairlands Heights, the artist felt, oddly, that he was
meeting a company of strangers.

The carefully hidden, yet--to him--subtly revealed, warmth of Mrs. Taine's
greeting embarrassed him with a momentary sense of shame. The frothing
gush of Louise's inane ejaculations, and the coughing, choking, cursing of
Mr. Taine,--whose feeble grip upon the flesh that had so betrayed him was,
by now, so far loosed that he could scarcely walk alone,--set the painter
struggling for words that would mean nothing--the only words that, under
the circumstances, could serve. Aaron King was somewhat out of practise in
the use of meaningless words, and the art of talking without saying
anything is an art that requires constant exercise if one would not commit
serious technical blunders. James Rutlidge's greeting was insolently
familiar; as a man of certain mind greets--in public--a boon companion of
his private and unmentionable adventures. Toward the great critic, the
painter exercised a cool self-restraint that was at least commendable.

While Aaron King, with James Rutlidge and Mr. Taine, with carefully
assumed interest, was listening to Louise's effort to make a jumble of
"ohs" and "ahs" and artistic sighs sound like a description of a sunset in
the mountains, Mrs. Taine said quietly to Conrad Lagrange, "You certainly
have taken excellent care of your protege, this summer. He looks
splendidly fit."

The novelist, watching the woman whose eyes, as she spoke, were upon the
artist, answered, "You are pleased to flatter me, Mrs. Taine."

She turned to him, with a knowing smile. "Perhaps I _am_ giving you more
credit than is due. I understand Mr. King has not been in your care
altogether. Shame on you, Mr. Lagrange! for a man of your age and
experience to permit your charge to roam all over the country, alone and
unprotected, with a picturesque mountain girl!--and that, after your
warning to poor me!"

Conrad Lagrange