you believe me to be a sort of
freak--an afflicted curiosity, and that, in the interest of medicine, I
ought to go to an asylum or submit myself to the ceaseless observation
of a competent private physician."

"I--I think it best for you to place yourself in my care," she said.
"Will you?"

"Yes," he said, "I will. I'll do anything in the world you ask."

"That is very--very generous, very noble of you!" she exclaimed,
flushing with excitement and delight. "It means a great deal to me--it
means, perhaps, a fame that I scarcely dared dream of even in my most
enthusiastic years. I am too grateful to express my gratitude
coherently; I am trying to say to you that I thank you; that I recognize
in you those broad, liberal, generous qualities which, from your
appearance and bearing, I--I thought perhaps you must possess."

She colored again very prettily; he bowed, and ventured to remind her
that she had not yet given him the privilege of naming himself.

"That is true!" she said, surprised. "I had quite forgotten it." But
when he named himself she raised her head, startled.

"Victor Carden!" she repeated. "You are the _artist_, Victor Carden!"

"Yes," he said, watching her dilated eyes like two violet-tinted jewels.

For a minute she sat looking at him; and imperceptibly a change came
into her face, and its bewildering beauty softened as the vivid tints
died out, leaving her cheeks almost pale.

"It is--a pity," she said under her breath. All the excitement, all the
latent triumph, all the scarcely veiled eager enthusiasm had gone from
her now.

"A pity?" he repeated, smiling.

"Yes. I wish it had been only an ordinary man. I--why should this happen
to you? You have done so much for us all--made us forget ourselves in
the beauty of what you offer us. Why should this happen to _you_!"

"But you have not told me yet what has happened to me, Miss Hollis."

She looked up, almost frightened.

"_Are_ you our Victor Carden? I do not wish to believe it! You have done
so much for the world--you have taught us to understand and desire all
that is noble and upright and clean and beautiful!--to desire it, to
aspire toward it, to venture to live the good, true, wholesome lives
that your penciled creations must lead--_must_ lead to wear such
beautiful bodies and such divine eyes!"

"Do _you_ care for my work?" he asked, astonished and moved.

"I? Yes, of course I do. Who does not?"

"Many," he replied simply.

"I am