The case was simple.  Sally wanted to believe that Tracy’s preference was disinterested; so she was always applying little tests of one sort or another, hoping and expecting that they would bring out evidence which would confirm or fortify her belief.  Poor Tracy did not know that these experiments were being made upon him, consequently he walked promptly into all the traps the girl set for him.  These traps consisted in apparently casual references to social distinction, aristocratic title and privilege, and such things.  Often Tracy responded to these references heedlessly and not much caring what he said provided it kept the talk going and prolonged the seance.  He didn’t suspect that the girl was watching his face and listening for his words as one who watches the judge’s face and listens for the words which will restore him to home and friends and freedom or shut him away from the sun and human companionship forever.  He didn’t suspect that his careless words were being weighed, and so he often delivered sentence of death when it would have been just as handy and all the same to him to pronounce acquittal.  Daily he broke the girl’s heart, nightly he sent her to the rack for sleep.  He couldn’t understand it.

Some people would have put this and that together and perceived that the weather never changed until one particular subject was introduced, and that then it always changed.  And they would have looked further, and perceived that that subject was always introduced by the one party, never the other.  They would have argued, then, that this was done for a purpose.  If they could not find out what that purpose was in any simpler or easier way, they would ask.

But Tracy was not deep enough or suspicious enough to think of these things.  He noticed only one particular; that the weather was always sunny when a visit began.  No matter how much it might cloud up later, it always began with a clear sky.  He couldn’t explain this curious fact to himself, he merely knew it to be a fact.  The truth of the matter was, that by the time Tracy had been out of Sally’s sight six hours she was so famishing for a sight of him that her doubts and suspicions were all consumed away in the fire of that longing, and so always she came into his presence as surprisingly radiant and joyous as she wasn’t when she went out of it.

In circumstances like these a growing portrait runs a good many risks.  The portrait of Sellers, by Tracy, was fighting along, day by day, through this mixed weather, and daily adding to itself ineradicable signs of the checkered life it was leading.  It was the happiest portrait, in spots, that was ever seen; but in other spots a damned soul looked out from it; a soul that was suffering all the different kinds of distress there are, from stomach ache to rabies.  But Sellers liked it.  He said it was just himself all over—­a portrait that sweated moods from every pore, and no two moods alike.  He said he had as many different kinds of emotions in him as a jug.