e
strangely beautiful creations of your brush. What suggested this
picture?"

"You merely wish to complete your diagnosis of my psychological
condition? If so, there is no reason why I should hesitate to tell you
that while I was playing one of Chopin's _Nocturnes_ the significance
of the Polish '_Zael_' perplexed me. In striving to analyze it,
Coleridge's 'Melancholy' occurred to my mind, and teased and haunted
me until I wrought it out palpably. My work there means more than his
fragment, and includes something which I suppose Chopin meant by that
insynonymous word '_Zael_.'"

Standing under the arch, with one hand holding back the lace drapery,
the other hanging nerveless at her side, she looked as weird as any of
her ideal creations; and, in the greenish seashine breaking through
the dense foliage of the trees about the house, her wan face, snowy
muslin dress, and floating white ribbons, seemed unsubstantial as the
figures on the wall. To-day there was no spot of color in face or
dress, save the azure gleam of the large, brilliant ring, on her
uplifted hand; and, as Dr. Grey scrutinized her appearance, he found
it difficult to realize that blood pulsed in that marble flesh, and
warm breath fluttered in that firm, frigid mouth. Glancing around the
rooms, he said,--

"Solitude is indeed a misnomer for a home peopled with such creations
as adorn these walls."

"No. Have you forgotten the definition of Epictetus? '_To be
friendless is solitude._'"

"I hope, madam, that you may never find yourself in that unfortunate
category, and certainly there are--"

"Sir, I know what Michael Angelo felt when he wrote from Rome, 'I have
no friends; I need none.'"

She interrupted him with an indescribably haughty gesture, and an
anomalous spasm of the lips that belonged to no known class of
smiles.

"On the contrary, Mrs. Gerome, the hunger for true friends has
rendered you morose and cynical."

He did not shrink from the wide eyes that flashed like blue steel in
moonshine; and as his own, calm, steady, and magnetic, dwelt gravely
on her face, he fancied she winced, slightly.

"No, sir. When I hunt or recognize friends, I shall borrow Diogenes'
lantern. Good morning, Dr. Grey."

"Pardon me if I detain you for a moment to inquire who taught you to
paint."

"The absolute necessity of self-forgetfulness."

"But you surely had some tuition in the art?"

"Yes; I had the usual boarding-school privilege of a master for