hard to let it be myself. I had such a
hideous doubt as to which had the best right to live.
But I failed there--death is too ghastly. So I did what
you see. In doing it I think I committed the unforgivable
sin--not against you, but against art. It may be some
satisfaction to you to know that I shall never wholly
respect myself again in consequence." A word or two
scratched out, and then: "Understand that I bear no malice
toward you, have no blame for you, only honor. You acted
under the very highest obligation--you could not have
done otherwise. * * * * * And I am glad to think that I
do not destroy with your work the joy you had in it.
* * *"

Kendal noted the consideration of this final statement
with a cynical laugh, and counted the asterisks. Why
the devil hadn't he locked the door? His confidence in
her had been too ludicrous. He read the note half through
once again, and then with uncontrollable impatience tore
it into shreds. To have done it at all was hideous, but
to try and impress herself in doing it was disgusting.
He reflected, with a smile of incredulous contempt, upon
what she had said about killing herself, and wondered,
in his anger, how she could be so blind to her own
disingenuousness. Five asterisks--she had made them
carefully--and then the preposterousness about what she
had destroyed and what she hadn't destroyed; and then
more asterisks. What had she thought they could possibly
signify--what could anything she might say possibly
signify?

In a savage rudimentary way he went over the ethical
aspect of the affair, coming to no very clear conclusion.
He would have destroyed the thing himself if she had
asked him, but she should have asked him. And even in
his engrossing indignation he could experience a kind of
spiritual blush as he recognized how safe his concession
was behind the improbability of its condition. Finally
he wrote a line to Janet, informing her that the portrait
had sustained an injury, and postponing her and her
father's visit to the studio. He would come, in the
morning to tell her about it, he added, and despatched
the missive by the boy downstairs, post-haste, in a cab.
It would be to-morrow, he reflected, before he could
screw himself up to talking about it, even to Janet. For
that day he must be alone with his discomfiture.

* * * * *

In the days of his youth and adversity, long before he
and the public were upon speaking terms, Mr. George
Jasper had found encour