her, and listen to you all, and watch you
pouring out tea. But I thought all the time that I was keeping a fine
hold on myself, just tapering off, the dope-fiends call it. Then it was
that you came to me. You're ugly and gawky enough, Dave, but no evil
angel of temptation was ever so compelling as you. I remember how you
stared when I said I didn't want her. And you hadn't been gone ten
minutes before the devil had his clutches on me and flung me in my car
and I met you at your door and told you to let her come!

"And I've been painting her again. Such beastly stuff as I've turned
out! Daubing in and rubbing out again, and staring at her till I knew
she was beginning to feel uneasy and anxious. But I always managed to
keep a hold on my tongue. God! What a fight I was waging, every minute
of the time, crazy to fling the palette to the floor, to kick the easel
over, to rush to her and tell her I was mad for the love of her! And
to-day the crisis came; I'd been shaking all over; couldn't hold a brush
to save my life. I--I don't know what I said to her; but it was nothing
to offend her, I am sure, nothing that a sweet, clean woman could not
hear and listen to, from a man who loved her. But I remember her words.
They were very halting and that poor voice of hers was very hoarse
again.

"'Oh!' she cried, 'I--I am so miserably sorry. I--I thought you were
just one of the dear kind friends who have been so good to me. I--I
never said a word or did a thing to--to bring such a thing about.
Please--please let me go away. It makes me dreadfully unhappy!'

"And so she picked up her hat and put it on, her hands shaking all over,
and took the baby to her bosom and went out, and--and I guess that's
all, Dave."

He sank down on the teakwood stool he generally uses to put his colors
on and his brushes. His jaws rested in the open palms of his hands, and
he looked as if his vision was piercing the walls and wandering off to
some other world.

"Why don't you speak?" he finally cried.

"Because I don't know what to say," I replied. "I've an immense pity for
you in my heart, old man. You--you've been playing with fire and your
burnt flesh is quivering all over."

"Let it go at that, Dave," he answered, rising. "I'm glad you're not one
of the preaching kind. I'd throw you neck and crop out of the window, if
you were."

"What of Miss Van Rossum?" I asked, gravely.

"They went off a week ago to Palm Beach. Looking for those tarpon. C