ad never before painted her clothed.

From moment to moment, as she leisurely breakfasted, she glanced around
at the canvas, interested in the new idea of his painting her draped; a
trifle perplexed, too.

"Louis," she said, "I don't quite see how you're ever going to find a
purchaser for just a plain portrait of me."

He said, irritably: "I don't have to work for a living _every_ minute,
do I? For Heaven's sake give me a day off to study."

"But--it seems like wasted time--"

"What is wasted time?"

"Why just to paint a portrait of me as I am. Isn't it?" She looked up
smilingly, perfectly innocent of any self-consciousness. "In the big
canvases for the Byzantine Theatre you always made my features too
radiant, too glorious for portraits. It seems rather a slump to paint me
as I am--just a girl in street clothes."

A singular expression passed over his face.

"Yes," he said, after a moment--"just a girl in street clothes. No
clouds, no sky, no diaphanous draperies of silk; no folds of cloth of
gold; no gemmed girdles, no jewels. Nothing of the old glamour, the old
glory; no sunburst laced with mist; no 'light that never was on sea or
land.' ... Just a young girl standing in the half light of my studio....
And by God!--if I can not do it--the rest is worthless."

Amazed at his tone and expression she turned quickly, set back her cup,
remained gazing at him, bewildered by the first note of bitterness she
had ever heard in his voice.

He had risen and walked to his easel, back partly turned. She saw him
fussing with his palette, colours, and brushes, watched him for a few
moments, then she went away into the farther room where she had a glass
shelf to herself with toilet requisites--a casual and dainty gift from
him.

When she returned he was still bending over his colour-table; and she
walked up and laid her hand on his shoulder--not quite understanding why
she did it.

He straightened up to his full stature, surprised, turning his head to
meet a very clear, very sweetly disturbed gaze.

"Kelly, dear, are you unhappy?"

"Why--no."

"You seem to be a little discontented."

[Illustration: "'Kelly, dear, are you unhappy?'"]

"I hope I am. It's a healthy sign."

"Healthy?"

"Certainly. The satisfied never get anywhere.... That Byzanite business
has begun to wear on my nerves."

"Thousands and thousands of people have gone to see it, and have praised
it. You know what the papers have been saying--"