xpect me. I wanted
him to take me out to luncheon; and I had the oddest experience! Oh! Mr.
Devant, look at that bit, pinned to the wall! That is really exquisite!
Well, as I was saying, I stole in upon Dick. I called from the outer
room that it was I--I wished afterward that I had not!--and then I ran
into the studio. As quick as a flash, Dick dropped a curtain, just like
this, between me and his easel! I was determined to see what he had been
painting, but he positively forbade it. He said it was a painter's
prerogative to warn even--love from that holy of holies. I often wonder
what was behind the curtain. I realized from that moment that if you
want to see a great artist's best work, you must override his modesty
and secretiveness--and tear the screen from his altar!"

With a light laugh, the girl now drew aside the sheltering curtain with
playful, dramatic force, and lay bare the secret that it hid!

Janet did not move. Her great, startled eyes, dark, intense, and
passion-filled, stared helplessly at the two, who, transfixed, returned
the stare in frozen silence. So rigid and deathlike the model lay in the
meshes of the net, so beautiful and graceful in her motionless pose,
that for an instant the intruders could not trust their senses. Then the
woman found voice and action.

"I fear," she said slowly, coldly, and distantly, "I fear we really have
intruded where we have no right, Mr. Devant." Then she laughed a rich,
rippling laugh. "And the captains! where are the captains, my dear Mr.
Devant? They seem to have omitted the captains to-day. Pray let us go at
once. I would not interfere with Dick's future fame for all the world! I
can quite understand why artists hide their best work at times!"
Without a word, Mr. Devant dropped the curtain.

Janet heard them go out, heard them lock the door, and realized that
they hid the key. She tried to get up, but the intention was only mental
and died without an effort. A physical sickness and bodily weakness held
her. To lie still was the only course possible, but the thoughts rushed
madly through the awakened mind. In that hour womanly instinct was born,
the instinct that armed itself against suspicion and another's contempt.
Shame, for what was not real but suggested by a coarser mind, hurt and
blinded her. The child in Janet had been killed by that white, cold
woman, and what arose was more terrible than the slayer could have
imagined, for this new creature scorned the