Some strange, sustaining atmosphere came from him.  His words lifted her.  Beth saw upon his brow and face the poise and fineness of a love-child....  With all the mother’s giving there had been no name for him; and he had told her with all the ease and grace of one who knows in his heart—­a mother’s purity of soul....  It was hard for Beth to realize, with Bedient sitting there, that the world makes tragic secrets of these things he had told her; that lives of lesser men have been ruined with the fear of such discoveries....  Nothing of so intense and intimate appeal had ever come to her studio, as the heroism of this mother, impressing upon her tortured and desperate child, that though taken from him, she would be near always....  The sensitive Vina had seemed to see the mother near him, her hand upon his head, saying with a laugh, “This is my Art—­and he lives!”

Beth spoke at last:  “You honor me, Mr. Bedient, in telling me these deep things.”

“This seemed the place,” he said, leaning forward.  “It’s extraordinary when I recall I have only been here an hour or so.  It would seem absurd to some women, but the story knew where it belonged....  In fact, it is hard for me to remember that this is our first talk alone....  Perhaps you should know, that I’ve never spoken of my mother to anyone else....  I never could find the port where she died.”

They learned that they could be silent together....  Beth knew that she would have extended conference with the Shadowy Sister when alone.  Big things were enacting in the depths.  There was another thing that Vina had said regarding the appeal of Bedient personally to her, which required much understanding....  Beth had found herself thinking (in Bedient’s presence) that she might have been hasty and imperious in sending the Other away.  She had been rather proud of her iron courage up to this hour.  Of course, it was ridiculous that Bedient should recall the Other, and after months suggest her unreasonableness; yet these things recurred....  Moreover, a moment after Bedient’s entering, there had been no embarrassment between them.  Not only had they dared be silent, but they had not tried each other out tentatively by talking about people they knew.  Then he had said it was hard for him to remember this was their first talk together alone.  Beth realized that here was a subject who would not bore her before his portrait was finished.

“Does David Cairns know Miss Nettleton very well?” Bedient asked, as he was leaving.

She smiled at the question, and was about to reply that they had been right good friends for years, when it occurred that he might have a deeper meaning.

Bedient resumed while she was thinking:  “I know that he admires her work and intelligence, but he never spoke to me of any further discoveries.  Perhaps he wouldn’t....  He’s a singularly fine chap, finer than I knew....  I noticed a short essay in your stand that contains a sentence I cannot forget.  It was about a rare man who ’stooped and picked up a fair-coined soul that lay rusting in a pool of tears.’”