f it he assured
himself that it was London, and his irritation vanished
at the thought of the futility of Elfrida in London. It
gave him a half curious, half solicitous amusement instead.
He pictured her with her Hungarian peasant's cloak and
any one of her fantastic hats in the conventional highways
he knew so well, and smiled. "She will have to take
herself differently there," he reflected, without pausing
to consider exactly what he meant by it, "and she'll find
that a bore." As yet he himself had never taken her
differently so far as he was aware, and in spite of the
obvious provocation of her behavior it did not occur to
him to do it now. He reflected with a shade of satisfaction
that she knew his London address. When she saw quite fit
she would doubtless inform him as to what she was doing
and where she might be found. He smiled again at the
thought of the considerations which Elfrida would put
into the balance against the pleasure of seeing him. They
were not humiliating; he was content to swing high on
the other side indefinitely; but he admitted to himself
that she had taken a pleasure out of Paris for him, and
went back to his studio missing it. He went on missing
it for quite two days, at the end of which he received
an impetuous visit--excessively impetuous considering
the delay--from Nadie Palicsky. In its course Mademoiselle
Palicsky declared herself robbed and wronged by "_cette
incomprise d'Americaine_," whom she loved--but _loved_,
did he understand? No, it was not probable that he
understood--what did a man know of love? As much perhaps
as that flame--Kendal permitted himself the luxury of an
open fire. Nadie stared into it for a moment with cynical
eyes. Under the indirect influence of Kendal's regard
they softened.

"She always understood. It was a joy to show her anything.
She interpreted Bastien Lepage better than I--indeed that
is true--but only with her soul, she had no hands. Yes,
I loved her, and she was good for me. I drew three breaths
in her presence for one in her absence. And she has taken
herself away; even in her letter--I had a line too--she
was as remote as a star! I hope," continued Nadie, with
innocent candor, as she swung her little feet on the
corner of Kendal's table, "that you do not love her too.
I say prayers to _le bon Dieu_, about it. I burn candles."

"And why?" Kendal asked, with a vigorous twist of his
palette knife.

"Because you are such a beast," she responde