"Yes, certainly, studied with him; that's where he met her so often."

Gregg began pacing the floor. Stopping short in his walk he turned and
faced the group about the fire:

"Does he realize," he burst out in a voice that rang through the room
and fastened every eye upon him--"what his cowardly weakness will
bring him? The misery it will entail; the sleepless nights, the fear,
the remorse that will follow? The outrage on Bowdoin's home, on his
children? Has he thought of the humiliation of the man deserted--the
degradation of the man who caused it? Does he know what it is to live
a life where every decent woman brands you as a scoundrel, and every
decent man looks upon you as a thief?"

The outburst astounded the room. One or two arose from their chairs
and stood looking at him in amazement. Gregg was often outspoken;
right was right with him, and wrong was wrong, and he never minced
matters. They loved him for his frankness and courage, but this
outbreak seemed entirely uncalled for by anything that had been said
or done. Surely there must be a personal side to his attitude. Had any
friend of his any such experience that he should explode so suddenly?
What made it all the more unaccountable was that he never talked
gossip, and never allowed any man to speak ill of a friend in his
presence, no matter what the cause--and Hartman was his friend. Why,
then, should he pounce upon him without proof of any kind other than
the gossip of the studios?

"Well, my dear Gregg, don't blame me," laughed the painter who had
borne the brunt of the outbreak and whom Adam had singled out to
listen to his attack. "I haven't run off with pretty Mrs. Bowdoin, or
made love to her either, have I?"

"But you still shake hands with Hartman, don't you?"

"Of course I do. I couldn't show him the door, could I? He's made an
ass of himself, but it's none of my business. They'll have to patch it
up between them. Don't get excited, Gregg, and don't forget that the
jury meets this afternoon at four o'clock in my studio."

"I will be there," replied Adam curtly, "but I cannot stay very long.
I have an appointment at four."

* * * * *

The room was full of his brother painters when, some hours later, his
red Spanish _boina_ on his head--he always wore it when at work--Gregg
entered the studio on the floor below his own. It was the first
informal meeting of the Jury of the Academy, and an important one.
Some