nk of me?"

Stroeve, looking at her with perplexity, hesitated.
His forehead was all puckered, and his red mouth set in a pout.
He reminded me oddly of an agitated guinea-pig.

"Then it's No, darling?" he said at last.

She gave a gesture of lassitude. She was exhausted.

"The studio is yours. Everything belongs to you. If you want
to bring him here, how can I prevent you?"

A sudden smile flashed across his round face.

"Then you consent? I knew you would. Oh, my precious."

Suddenly she pulled herself together. She looked at him with
haggard eyes. She clasped her hands over her heart as though
its beating were intolerable.

"Oh, Dirk, I've never since we met asked you to do anything for me."

"You know there's nothing in the world that I wouldn't do for
you."

"I beg you not to let Strickland come here. Anyone else you like.
Bring a thief, a drunkard, any outcast off the streets,
and I promise you I'll do everything I can for them gladly.
But I beseech you not to bring Strickland here."

"But why?"

"I'm frightened of him. I don't know why, but there's something
in him that terrifies me. He'll do us some great harm.
I know it. I feel it. If you bring him here it can only end badly."

"But how unreasonable!"

"No, no. I know I'm right. Something terrible will happen to us."

"Because we do a good action?"

She was panting now, and in her face was a terror which was
inexplicable. I do not know what she thought. I felt that
she was possessed by some shapeless dread which robbed her of
all self-control. As a rule she was so calm; her agitation
now was amazing. Stroeve looked at her for a while with
puzzled consternation.

"You are my wife; you are dearer to me than anyone in the world.
No one shall come here without your entire consent."

She closed her eyes for a moment, and I thought she was going
to faint. I was a little impatient with her; I had not
suspected that she was so neurotic a woman. Then I heard
Stroeve's voice again. It seemed to break oddly on the
silence.

"Haven't you been in bitter distress once when a helping hand
was held out to you? You know how much it means. Couldn't you
like to do someone a good turn when you have the chance?"

The words were ordinary enough, and to my mind there was in
them something so hortatory that I almost smiled. I was
astonished at the effect they had on Blanche Stroeve.
She started a little, and gave her husband a long lo