The words broke the spell.  Drawing back with an air of cold, unconquerable pride, the woman looked at Conrad Lagrange.  “And now,” she said, as she swiftly rearranged her dress, “perhaps you will be good enough to tell me why you have done this.”

Myra Willard turned away to sink into a chair, white and trembling.  Aaron King stepped quickly to her side, and, placing his hand gently on her shoulder waited for the novelist to speak.

“Miss Willard told you this story because I asked her to,” said Conrad Lagrange.  “I asked her to tell you because it gives me the power to protect the two people who are dearer to me than all the world.”

“Still in your role of protector, I see,” sneered Mrs. Taine.

“Exactly, madam.  It happens that I was a reporter on a certain newspaper when the incidents just related occurred.  I wrote the story for the press.  In fact, it was the story that gave me my start in yellow journalism, from which I graduated the novelist of your acquaintance.  I know the newspaper game thoroughly, Mrs. Taine.  I know the truth of this story that you have just heard.  Permit me to say, that I know how to write in the approved newspaper style, and to add that my name insures a wide hearing.  Proceed to carry out your threats, and I promise you that I will give this attractive bit of news, in all its colorful details, to every newspaper in the land.  Can’t you see the headlines?  ‘Startling Revelation,’ ’The Secret of the Beautiful Mrs. Taine’s Shoulders,’ ’Why a Leader in the Social World makes Modesty her Fad,’ ‘The Parentage of a Social Leader.’  Do you understand, madam?  Use your influence to interfere with or to hinder Mr. King in his work; or fail to use your influence to contradict the lies you have already started about the character of Miss Andres; and I will use the influence of my pen and the prestige of my name to put you before the eyes of the world for what you are.”

For a moment the woman looked at him, defiantly.  Then, as she grasped the full significance of what he had said, she slowly bowed her head.

Conrad Lagrange opened the door.

As she went out, the woman with the disfigured face started forward, holding out her hands appealingly.

Mrs. Taine did not look back, but went quickly toward the big automobile that was waiting in front of the house.

Chapter XLII

Aaron King’s Success

The winter months were past.

Aaron King was sitting before his finished picture.  The colors were still fresh upon the canvas that, to-day, hangs in an honored place in one of the great galleries of the world.  To the last careful touch, the artist had put into his painted message, the best he had to give.  Back of every line and brush-stroke there was the deep conviction of a worthy motive.  For an hour, he had been sitting there, before the easel, brush and palette in hand, without touching the canvas.  He could do no more.