haps bent on questioning his right to be there at all. But
he was promptly undeceived. Her mind was set on one object, and her
eyes did not travel beyond it. She no more suspected that an artist
was lurking in the shade of the cedars than she did that the man in
the moon was gazing blandly at her above their close-packed foliage.
She came on with rapid, graceful strides, stood for a moment by the
side of the Venus, and then, while Trenholme literally gasped for
breath, shed coat, skirt and shoes, revealing a slim form clad in a
dark blue bathing costume, and dived into the lake.

Trenholme had never felt more surprised. The change of costume was so
unexpected, the girl's complete ignorance of his presence so obvious,
that he regarded himself as a confessed intruder, somewhat akin to
Peeping Tom of Coventry. He was utterly at a loss how to act. If he
stood up and essayed a hurried retreat, the girl might be frightened,
and would unquestionably be annoyed. It was impossible to creep away
unseen. He was well below the crest of the slope crowned by the trees,
and the nymph now disporting in the lake could hardly fail to discover
him, no matter how deftly he crouched and twisted.

At this crisis, the artistic instinct triumphed. He became aware that
the one element lacking hitherto, the element that lent magic to the
beauty of the lake and its vivid environment of color, was the touch
of life brought by the swimmer. He caught the flash of her limbs as
they moved rhythmically through the dark, clear water, and it seemed
almost as if the gods had striven to be kind in sending this naiad to
complete a perfect setting. With stealthy hands he drew forth a small
canvas. Oil, not mild water color, was the fitting medium to portray
this Eden. Shrinking back under cover of a leafy brier, he began a
third sketch in which the dominant note was the contrast between the
living woman and the marble Venus.

For fifteen minutes the girl disported herself like a dolphin.
Evidently she was a practiced swimmer, and had at her command all the
resources of the art. At last she climbed out, and stood dripping on
the sun-laved rock beside the statue. Trenholme had foreseen this
attitude--had, in fact, painted with feverish energy in anticipation
of it. The comparison was too striking to be missed by an artist. Were
it not for the tightly clinging garments, the pair would have provided
a charming representation of Galatea in stone and Galatea aft