ter day, without apparent reason, he put it off--spending the hours in wandering

very lack of ornament but served to center the attention upon the charms that so loudly professed to scorn them. It was worldliness speaking in the quiet voice of religion. It was vulgarity advertising itself in terms of good taste. She had made modesty the handmaiden of blatant immodesty, and the daring impudence of it all fairly stunned the painter."Oh dear!" she said, watching his face, "I fear you don't like it, at all--and I thought it such a beautiful little gown. You told me to wear whatever I pleased, you know.""It _is_ a beautiful gown," he said--then added impulsively, "and you are beautiful in it. You would be beautiful in anything."She shook her head; favoring him with an understanding smile. "You say that to please me. I can see that you don't like me this way.""But I do," he insisted. "I like you that way, immensely. I was a bit surprised, that's all. You see, I thought, of course, that you would select an evening gown of some sort--something, you know, that would fit your social position--your place in the world. In this costume, the beauty of your shoulders--"Lowering her eyes as if embarrassed, she said coldly, "The beauty of my shoulders is not for the public. I have never worn--I will not wear--one of those dreadful, immodest gowns."Aaron King was bewildered. Suddenly, he remembered what Conrad Lagrange had said about her fad. But after so frankly exhibiting herself before him, dressed as she was in a gown that was deliberately planned to advertise her physical charms, to be particular about baring her shoulders in a conventional costume--! It was quite too much."Again, I beg your pardon, Mrs. Taine," he managed to say. "I did not know. Under the circumstances, this is exactly the thing. Your portrait, in what is so frankly a costume assumed for the purpose, takes us out of the dilemma very nicely, indeed.""Why, that's exactly what I thought," she returned eagerly. "And this is so in keeping with my real tastes--don't you see? A real portrait--I mean a serious work of art, you know--should always be something more than a mere likeness, should it not? Don't you think that to be genuinely good, a portrait must reveal the spirit and character--must portray the soul, as well as the features? I _do_ so want this to be a truly great picture--for your sake." Her manner seemed to say that she was doing it all for him. "I have never permitted any one to paint my portrait before, you know," she added meaningly."You are very kind, Mrs. Taine," he returned gravely. "Believe me, I do appreciate this opportunity I shall do my best to express my appreciation here"--he indicated the canvas on the easel.When his sitter was posed to his liking, and the artist, with a few bold, sweeping, strokes of the charcoal had roughed out his subject on the canvas, and was bending over his color-box--he said, casually, to put her at ease, "You came alone this afternoon, did you?""Oh, no, indeed! I brought Louise with me. I shall always bring her, or some one. One cannot be too careful, you know," she added with simulated artlessness.The painter, studying her face, replied mechanically "No indeed."As he turned back to his canvas, Mrs. Taine continued, "I left her in the house, with a box of chocolates and a novel. I felt that you would rather we were alone.""Please don't look down," said the artist. "I want your eyes about here"--he indicated a picture on the wall, a little back and to the left of where he stood at the easel.After this, there was silence in the studio, for a little while. Mrs. Taine obediently kept the pose; her eyes upon the point the artist had indicated; but--as the man, himself, was almost directly in her line of vision--it was easy for her to watch him at his work, when his eyes were on his canvas or palette. The arrangement was admirable in that it relieved the tedium of the hour for the sitter; and gave her face an expression of animated interest that, truthfully fixed upon the canvas, should insure the fame and future of any painter.It would be quite too much to say that Aaron King became absorbed in his occupation. Thorough master of the tools of his craft, and of his own technic, as well; he was interested in the mere exercising of his skill, but he in no sense lost himself in his work. Two or three times, Mrs. Taine saw him glance quickly over his shoulder, as though expecting some one. Once, for quite a moment, he deliberately turned from his easel to stand at the window, looking up at the distant mountain peaks. Several times, he seemed to be listening."May I talk?" she said at last."Why, certainly," he returned. "I want you to feel perfectly at ease. You must be altogether at home here. Just let yourself go--say what you like, with no conventional restraints whatever--consider me a mechanical something that is no more than an article of furniture--be as thoroughly yourself as if alone in your own room.""How funny," she said musingly."Not at all"--he returned--"just a matter of business.""But it _would_ be funny if I were to take you at your word," she replied; suddenly breaking the pose and meeting his gaze squarely. "Is it--is it quite necessary for the mechanical something to look at me like that?