he went on. "I was just back from Paris--after years. I remember with
what a shock of surprise I noted the perfection of his face. The angle
was absolutely correct as the old Hellenic marbles, and to every curve
was that final warmth which stone can only distantly suggest. Then he
was tall, but so light and lithe----"

She knew he would not fail to see the flaw here--the artistic taint.
She had heard him deplore the worship of empty line, saying that nature
almost invariably travesties it.

"I was hasty, then, in my conclusion to-day," he said, questioning,
"when I asked if there was any reason why I should not tell you how
great you are to me?"

"It did not seem the time to tell you," she answered quickly. "I was
wrong, but--it was not wrong to him! Please don't think that! I sent
him away."

"Oh, I see better--thank you. And now go on, Beth, please----"

"You see, he was my work----"

Beth's mother now called from the front door. She was going upstairs
and would say good-night to Mr. Bedient.

"Go to her," Beth whispered. "I shall see her later."

... And now she stood alone by the gate, her mind seething. Forces
within falteringly implored her to go no further. She found in his few
brief questions that old fidelity to truth that had been one of his
first charms. This helped to unsteady her. Was she not wrong to judge
this man by the standards the world had made her accept for others?...
The day came back. Why had Wordling been so far from her mind out there
in the sunlight? Radiant with health, thrilling with mysteries, in the
summit of her womanhood, she had been above fear, and he above evil.
The Shadowy Sister, too, had gone forth to meet him, majestic and
unashamed. What spell was that which had come over her, a perfect
vein-dilation in the brilliant light? Why, it had seemed to her that
she could feel the pulse of flower-stems, and paint the nervous systems
of the bees. Painting--what a pitiful transaction was art (in the
divine stimulus at that hour) compared to the supernal happiness of
evolved motherhood! And what exquisite homage had he shown her! And the
long talk, his mind crowded with pictures like memories of a
world-voyage! Again and again, there had come over her, some inner
uplift, as if she were rising upon a wave.... She heard his tones now,
as he spoke to her mother on the porch, and his gentleness throughout
recurred.

The Other had gone from her world, and now he was going. Her mind