t? With it,
one can do anything."

"I believe you." He was silent for a moment, still looking at her
intently. "I wonder," he said then, "if you would be willing to give me
something I very much want. I have no right to ask it, and yet, for the
sake of many pleasant hours we have spent together--that's a tame phrase
for me to use of them, from my standpoint--for their sake would you be
willing to let me have--a picture of yourself? I promise you it shall be
seen by no one but myself. It would mean a good deal to me. Yet, if you
are not entirely willing, I won't ask it."

He spoke in the quietest, grave way. After a moment's hesitation she
answered him as quietly.

"I don't know why I should mind, Dr. Leaver, and yet, somehow, I find
I do. Will you believe it's not because I don't want to please you?"

His face showed, in spite of him, that the denial hurt him. He held out
his hand.

"You are quite right to be frank. Shall we say good-bye? All kinds of
success to you this winter--and always."

"Thank you, Dr. Leaver. I give you back the wish."

They shook hands, the two faces smiling at each other. Then he went
quickly away. Looking after him she saw that he carried his hat in his
hand until he had reached the gate in the hedge. He closed the gate
without a backward glance, and in a minute more was out of sight.

She went into her dark-room and examined again the plate she had just
developed. Holding it in a certain light, against darkness, she was able
to obtain a faint view of the picture as it would be in the print.
Unquestionably she had made a lifelike and extraordinarily attractive
portrait of a man of distinguished features, caught at a moment when he
had had no notion that the thing was happening. She studied it long and
attentively.

"It would have been better if I hadn't made it," she said slowly to
herself. "For now I shall have it to look at, and I shall have to look at
it. I'm not strong enough--not strong enough--I don't _want_ to be strong
enough--to forego that!"

* * * * *

After nightfall, on that September evening, Leaver took his departure.
Burns was to convey him in the Imp to the city station, because his
train did not stop in the suburban village. For a half-hour before his
going Burns's porch was full, the Macauleys and the Chesters having come
over to do Dr. Leaver honour. They found less chance for talking with him
than they might have done if he had