s from her charming bewilderment out of isolation
to a happy companionship never before shared with any man.

Nor even vaguely had she dreamed that Drene could be such a man, such
a friend, never had she imagined there was in him such kindness, such
patience, such gentleness, such comprehension, such virile sense and
sympathy.

And never, now, was her troubled consciousness aware of anything
disquieting in his attitude, of anything to perturb her.

He seemed to enjoy himself like a boy, with her companionship, wholly,
heartily, without any motive other than the pleasure of the moment;
and so, little by little, she gave herself up to it too, in the same
fashion, unguardedly, frankly, innocently revealing herself to him by
degrees as their comradeship became deliciously unembarrassed.

He was making a full length study in clay now. All day long she sat
there enthroned, her eyes partly closed, the head lifted a trifle and
fallen back, and her lovely hands resting on her heart--and sometimes
she strove to imagine something of the divine moment which she was
embodying; pondering, dreaming, wondering; and sometimes, in the
stillness, through her trance crept a thrill, subtle, exquisite, as
though in faint perception of the heavenly moment. And once, into her
half-dreaming senses came the soft stirring of wings, and she opened her
eyes and looked up, startled and thrilled.

But it was only a pigeon which had come through the great window from
the cote on the adjacent roof and which circled above her on whimpering
wings for a moment and then sheered out into the sunlight.

They dined together at a roof garden that evening, the music was
particularly and surprisingly good, and what surprised him even more was
that she knew it and spoke of it. And continued speaking of music, he
not interrupting.

Reticent hitherto concerning her antecedents he learned now something
of them--and inferred more; nothing unusual--a musical career determined
upon, death intervening dragging over her isolation the steel meshes of
destitution--the necessity for self-support, a friend who knew a painter
who employed models--not anything unusual, not even dramatic.

He nodded as she ended:

"Have you saved anything?"

"A hundred dollars."

"That's fine."

She smiled, then sighed unconsciously.

"You are thinking," he said, "that youth is flying."

She smiled wistfully.

"Youth is the time to study. You were thinking that, too."

She