as. The moment that
one course of action seemed to me the best, the very opposite would
occur to me as being the best. However, I was determined to know from
Mr. D'Arcy, and at once, what was the state in which I was when I was
brought to this place, and what had been the course of my life during
my stay here. Mr. D'Arcy had told me that, for reasons which he so
touchingly alluded to, he had not used me as a model. How, then, had
my time been passed? To question poor Mrs. Titwing would only be to
frighten her. I would ask Mr. D'Arcy for a full confession.

'Mrs. Titwing came into the room. She began pulling at the ribbon of
her black silk apron as though she wanted to speak and could not find
the proper words. At last she said,

'"I hope, miss, there have been no words between you and Mr. D'Arcy?"

''"Words between me and Mr. D'Arcy? What do you mean?" I asked.

'"He seems very much upset, miss, about something. He is not at his
easel, but keeps walking about the studio, and every now and then he
asks where you are. I'm sure he used to dote on you when you were a
child, miss."

'"When I was a child?" I said, laughing. "But I see what it is. I
have been very neglectful. I promised to go into the studio to see
the pictures, and he is, of course, impatient at my keeping him
waiting. I will go to him at once," and I went.

'When I entered the studio he turned quickly round and said,

'"Well?"

'"You were so kind," I said, "as to invite me to see your treasures."

'"To be sure," he said. "I thought you came to give your decision."

'He then showed me the curious divan upon which I had rested the day
before, and explained to me the meaning of the carved designs.'

VIII

Winifred described the designs on the divan so vividly that I could
almost see them. But what interested me was the painter, not his
surroundings; and she now seemed to grow weary of talking about
herself.

'Did he,' I said, 'did he say anything about--about painters'
models?'

'Yes,' she said, 'Mr. D'Arcy took me to an easel and showed me a
picture. It was only the half-length of a woman; but it was a tragedy
rendered fully by the expression on one woman's face.

'"I had no idea," I said, "that any picture of a single face could do
such work as that. Was this painted from a model?"

'"Yes," he said, with a smile, which was evidently at my ignorance of
art. "It was painted from life."

'There were four other half-lengths in the room, al