painted her
portrait, as she stood with outstretched hands in the golden light among
the roses, he had mixed his colors with the best love that a man may offer
a woman. And he knew that the repainting of that false portrait of Mrs.
Taine, with all that it would cost him, was his first offering to that
love.

The girl musician finished playing and slipped away. When they would have
recalled her, Mrs. Taine--too well schooled to betray a hint of the
emotions aroused by what she had just seen as she watched Aaron
King--shook her head.

At that instant, Mr. Taine rose to his feet, supporting himself by holding
with shaking hands to the table. A hush, sudden as the hush of death, fell
upon the company. The millionaire's attendant put out his hand to steady
his master, and another servant stepped quickly forward. But the man who
clung so tenaciously to his last bit of life, with a drunken strength in
his dying limbs, shook them off, saying in a hoarse whisper, "Never mind!
Never mind--you fools--can't you see I'm game!"

In the quiet of the room, that a moment before rang with excited voices
and shrill laughter, the man's husky, straining, whispered boast sounded
like the mocking of some invisible, fiendish presence at the feast.

Lifting a glass of whisky with that yellow, claw-like hand upon which the
great diamond gleamed--a spot of flawless purity; with his repulsive
features twisted into a grewsome ugliness by his straining effort to force
his diseased vocal chords to make his words heard; the wretched creature
said: "Here's to our girl musician. The prettiest--lassie that I--have
seen for many a day--and I think I know a pretty girl--when I see one too.
Who comes bright and fresh--from her mountains, to amuse us--and to add,
to the beauty--and grace and wit and genius--that so distinguishes this
company--the flavor and the freedom of her wild-wood home. Her music--is
good, you'll all agree--" he paused to cough and to look inquiringly
around, while every one nodded approval and smiled encouragingly. "Her
music is good--but I--maintain that she, herself, is better. To me--her
beauty is more pleasing to the eye--than--her fiddling can possibly--be to
the ear!" Again he was forced to pause, while his guests, with hand and
voice, applauded the clever words. Lifting the glass of whisky toward his
lips that, by his effort to speak, were drawn back in a repulsive grin, he
leered at the celebrities sitting nearest. "I suppos