“You’re an angel,” he said, contritely, “but a silly one.”

“A scared one, Kelly—­and a fallen one.”  She laughed, flexing the muscles of her benumbed leg:  “Your expression intimidated me.  I didn’t recognise you; I could not form any opinion of what was going on inside that very stern and frowning head of yours.  If you look like that I’ll never dare call you Kelly.”

“Did I seem inhuman?”

“N-no.  On the contrary—­very human—­ordinary—­like the usual ill-tempered artist man, with whom I have learned how to deal.  You know,” she added, teasingly, “that you are calm and god-like, usually—­and when you suddenly became a mere mortal—­”

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do with you,” he said; “I’ll pick you up and put you to bed.”

“I wish you would, Kelly.  I haven’t had half enough sleep.”

He sat down beside her on the sofa:  “Don’t talk any more of that god-like business,” he growled, “or I’ll find the proper punishment.”

“Would you punish me, Kelly?”

“I sure would.”

“If I displeased you?”

“You bet.”

“Really?” She turned partly toward him, half in earnest.  “Suppose—­suppose—­” but she stopped suddenly, with a light little laugh that lingered pleasantly in the vast, still room.

She said:  “I begin to think that there are two Kellys—­no, one Kelly and one Louis.  Kelly is familiar to me; I seem to have known him all my life—­the happy part of my life.  Louis I have just seen for the first time—­there at the easel, painting, peering from me to his canvas with Kelly’s good-looking eyes all narrow with worry—­”

“What on earth are you chattering about, Valerie?”

“You and Kelly....  I don’t quite know which I like best—­the dear, sweet, kind, clever, brilliant, impersonal, god-like Kelly, or this new Louis—­so very abrupt in speaking to me—­”

“Valerie, dear!  Forgive me.  I’m out of sorts somehow.  It began—­I don’t know—­waiting for you—­wondering if you could be ill—­all alone.  Then that ass, Sam Ogilvy—­oh, it’s just oversmoking I guess, or—­I don’t know what.”

She sat regarding him, head tipped unconsciously on one side in an attitude suggesting a mind concocting malice.

“Louis?”

“What?”

“You’re very attractive when you’re god-like—­”

“You little wretch!”

“But—­you’re positively dangerous when you’re human.”

“Valerie!  I’ll—­”

“The great god Kelly, or the fascinating, fearsome, erring Louis!  Which is it to be?  I’ve an idea that the time is come to decide!”

[Illustration:  “‘I will call you a god if I like!’”]

Fairly radiating a charming aura of malice she sat back, nursing one knee, distractingly pretty and defiant, saying:  “I will call you a god if I like!”

“I’ll tell you what, Valerie,” he said, half in earnest; “I’ve played grandmother to you long enough, by Heck!”