r missing buttons with the eagerness
of a terrier looking for rats.

When we returned, satiated with picturesque tragedy and second-rate
vaudeville, Frances, as usual, flew upstairs, obsessed with the idea
that obviously grease-painted and false-whiskered villains such as we
had seen on the screen must have penetrated the citadel and stolen her
baby. Frieda had left us at the door, and I climbed up in more leisurely
fashion, meeting Eulalie on the stairs, loaded with my soiled linen, who
bade me good evening, pleasantly.

Frances was waiting for me on her door-sill.

"Paul is all right. Nothing has happened," she confided to me. "Good
night, Mr. Cole, and thank you ever so much."

She smiled at me, and I was pleased that I had been able to divert her
thoughts for a few moments. How glad I should be if I could render more
permanent that little look of happiness she showed for an instant!

On my desk I found a message from Gordon, asking me to come to the
studio next day, which was a Sunday, for lunch.

I kept the appointment, walking all the way up. As I passed Bryant Park,
I noticed that the leaves were becoming slightly yellow. It was evident
that the summer was giving a hint of impending departure. I reached the
big building, just before noon, knowing that I should be somewhat ahead
of time, but glad to have a chat with Gordon.

"I know you've been dying to see that canvas," he told me. "That young
woman's a wonder. A clever and intelligent woman's the one to really
understand what a fellow's after and help him out. I really think she
took some interest in the thing. If she isn't otherwise occupied when I
return from Southampton, I might possibly make use of her for another
week or two. And there's Spinelli, the sculptor, who has a commission
for a big group of sirens, for a fountain. He was in here and looked at
the picture. Asked about her, he did, but I told him I didn't think
she'd pose that way."

"I should think not," I declared.

"You needn't get mad," he retorted. "I've been looking around to see if
I could get her something to do. Come in the front room and light your
pipe, if you want to. Windows are open. I'm expecting a couple of women
in to lunch. Glad you came in early. Yumasa's juggling in the
kitchenette; the chap's an artist, when it comes to playing tunes on a
chafing-dish. Well, how does it strike you?"

The picture stood before me. It was practically finished. I sank down on
the cushion