to the group
round Madonna--looked at her once more--and, from that moment, never
lost sight of her till she went up stairs again. Whichever way her
face turned, he followed the direction, outside the circle, so as to
be always in front of it. When Valentine re-appeared in the studio, and
Madonna besought him by a look, to set her free from general admiration,
and send her back to Mrs. Blyth, Mat was watching her over the painter's
shoulder. And when young Thorpe, who had devoted himself to helping her
in communicating with the visitors, nodded to her as she left the room,
his friend from the backwoods was close behind him.

CHAPTER VI. THE FINDING OF THE CLUE.

Mr. Blyth's visitors, now that their common center of attraction had
disappeared, either dispersed again in the painting-room, or approached
the door to take their departure. Zack, turning round sharply after
Madonna had left the studio, encountered his queer companion, who had
not stirred an inch while other people were all moving about him.

"In the name of wonder, what has come to you now? Are you ill? Have
you hurt yourself with that picture?" asked Zack, startled by the
incomprehensible change which he beheld in his friend's face and manner.

"Come out," said Mat. Young Thorpe looked at him in amazement; even the
sound of his voice had altered!

"What's wrong?" asked Zack. No answer. They went quickly along the
passage and down to the garden gate, in silence. As soon as they had got
into one of the lonely bye-roads of the new suburb, Mat stopped short;
and, turning full on his companion, said: "Who is she?" The sudden
eagerness with which he spoke, so strangely at variance with his usual
deliberation of tone and manner, made those three common words almost
startling to hear.

_"She?_ Who do you mean?" inquired young Thorpe.

"I mean that young woman they were all staring at."

For a moment, Zack contemplated the anxiety visible in his friend's
face, with an expression of blank astonishment; then burst into one of
his loudest, heartiest, and longest fits of laughter. "Oh, by Jove, I
wouldn't have missed this for fifty pounds. Here's old Rough and Tough
smitten with the tender passion, like all the rest of us! Blush, you
brazen old beggar, blush! You've fallen in love with Madonna at first
sight!"

"Damn your laughing! Tell me who she is."

"Tell you who she is? That's exactly what I can't do."

"Why not? What do you mean? Does she belong