“God knows!” groaned Eugene.

Morewood returned.

“He’s due here in ten minutes to sit to me.  Are you going to stay?”

“No.  You be doing something else, and let that thing stand on the easel.”

“Pleasant for me, isn’t it?” asked Morewood.

“Are you ashamed of yourself for snatching it?”

“Not a bit.”

“All right, then; what’s the matter?  Come along, Eugene.  After all, you know you’ll like showing it.  For an outsider, like yourself, it’s really a deuced clever little bit.  Perhaps they will make you an Associate if Stafford will let you show it.”

Morewood ignored the taunt, and sat down by the window on pretense of touching up a sketch.  He had not been there long when he heard Stafford come in, and became conscious that he had caught sight of the picture.  He did not look up, and heard no sound.  A long pause followed.  Then he felt a strong grip on his shoulder, and Stafford whispered: 

“It is my face?”

“You see it is.”

“You did it?”

“Yes.  I ought to beg your pardon,” and he looked up.  Stafford was pale as death, and trembling.

“When?”

“A few days ago.”

“On your oath—­no, you don’t believe that—­on your honor, is it truth?”

“Yes, it is.”

“You saw it—­just as it is there?”

“Yes, it is exact.  I had no right to take it or to show it you.”

“What does that matter, man?  Do you think I care about that?  But—­yes, it is true.  God help me!”

“We have seen it, you know.  It was time you saw it.”

“Time, indeed!”

“Where’s the harm?” asked Morewood, in a rough effort at comfort.

“The harm?  But you don’t understand.  It is the face of a beast!”

“My dear fellow, that’s stuff!  It’s only the face of a lover.”

Stafford looked at him in a dazed way.

“I wish you’d let me go back to my room, Morewood, and give me that picture.  No—­I won’t hurt it.”

“Take it, then, and pull yourself together.  What’s the harm, again I say?  And if she loves you—­”

“What?” he cried eagerly.  Then, checking himself, “Hold your peace, in Heaven’s name, and let me go!”

He went his way, and Morewood leaped from the window to find the other two.  He found them, but not alone.  Ayre was discoursing to Claudia and appeared entirely oblivious of the occurrence which he had precipitated.  Eugene was walking up and down with Kate Bernard.  It is necessary to listen to what the latter couple were saying.

“This is sad news, Kate,” Eugene said.  “Why are you going to leave us?”

“My aunt wants me to go with her to Buxton in September, and we’re going to have a few days on the river before that.”

“Then we shall not meet again for some time?”

“No.  Of course I shall write to you.”

“Thank you—­I hope you will.  You’ve had a pleasant time, I hope?  Who are to be your river party?”