entres of pure and radiant energy. Every work of genius has been
inspired by such a woman. And if, as sometimes happens, a true lover
does come, the two are so happy that the temperature of the whole race
warms through them."

"What an optimist!" she said, but when alone, it came to her that he
had been less certain than usual in this answer. Perhaps, he had felt
her stress upon realizing the personal aspect; perhaps he had too many
things to say, and was not ready. It _was_ a matter intensely
individual. However, this was the only time he had failed to carry her
critical attention.

* * * * *

Bedient saw that the years had locked one door after another about the
real heart of Beth Truba. His work was plain--to unlock them one by
one. How the task fascinated; he made it his art and his first thought.

"You change so," she complained laughingly, after there had been
several sittings. "I'm afraid I shall paint you very badly because I am
trying so hard. You don't look at all the same as you did at first.
Therefore all the first must be destroyed."

Bedient knew if his work prospered, all that had been before would be
redeemed.

One morning--it was one of the first of the May mornings--there was
something like heart-break in the room. Up on the skylight, the
sparrows were debating whether it would rain or not. There was tension
in the air which Bedient tried to ease from every angle. Consummately
he set about to restore and reassure, but she seemed to feel her work
was faring ill; that life was an evil thing. All the brightness that
had suffused her mind from his presence, again and again, had vanished
apparently, leaving not the slightest glow behind.

"Don't bother to work on this to-day," he said. "I am not in the
slightest hurry and you are to do it wonderfully. Please be sure that I
know that.... Will you go with me to the Metropolitan galleries
to-day?"

Beth smiled, and went on deliberating before the picture. Presently,
the tension possessed her again. She looked very white in the North
light.

"Did you ever doubt if you were really in the world?" she asked after a
moment, but did not wait, nor seem to expect an answer.... "I have,"
she added, "and concluded that I only thought I was here--queer sense
of unreality that has more than once sent me flying to the telephone
after a day's work alone--to hear my own voice and be answered. But,
even if one proves that one is inde