ly depressed her. But her
joviality, Fred felt, was an asset, and ought to be developed. He
discovered that she was more receptive and more effective under a
pleasant stimulus than she was under the gray grind which she considered
her salvation. She was still Methodist enough to believe that if a thing
were hard and irksome, it must be good for her. And yet, whatever she
did well was spontaneous. Under the least glow of excitement, as at Mrs.
Nathanmeyer's, he had seen the apprehensive, frowning drudge of Bowers's
studio flash into a resourceful and consciously beautiful woman.

His interest in Thea was serious, almost from the first, and so sincere
that he felt no distrust of himself. He believed that he knew a great
deal more about her possibilities than Bowers knew, and he liked to
think that he had given her a stronger hold on life. She had never seen
herself or known herself as she did at Mrs. Nathanmeyer's musical
evenings. She had been a different girl ever since. He had not
anticipated that she would grow more fond of him than his immediate
usefulness warranted. He thought he knew the ways of artists, and, as he
said, she must have been "at it from her cradle." He had imagined,
perhaps, but never really believed, that he would find her waiting for
him sometime as he found her waiting on the day he reached the Biltmer
ranch. Once he found her so--well, he did not pretend to be anything
more or less than a reasonably well-intentioned young man. A lovesick
girl or a flirtatious woman he could have handled easily enough. But a
personality like that, unconsciously revealing itself for the first time
under the exaltation of a personal feeling,--what could one do but watch
it? As he used to say to himself, in reckless moments back there in the
canyon, "You can't put out a sunrise." He had to watch it, and then he
had to share it.

Besides, was he really going to do her any harm? The Lord knew he would
marry her if he could! Marriage would be an incident, not an end with
her; he was sure of that. If it were not he, it would be some one else;
some one who would be a weight about her neck, probably; who would hold
her back and beat her down and divert her from the first plunge for
which he felt she was gathering all her energies. He meant to help her,
and he could not think of another man who would. He went over his
unmarried friends, East and West, and he could not think of one who
would know what she was driving at--or