she
should not see the portrait in its earlier stages, and
she had made a great concession of this. As it grew before
him, out of his consciousness, under his hand, he became
more and more aware that he would prefer to postpone her
seeing it, for reasons which he would not pause to define.
Certainly they were not connected with any sense of having
failed to do justice to his subject. Kendal felt an
exulting mastery over it which was the most intoxicating
sensation his work had ever brought him. He had, as he
painted, a silent, brooding triumph in his manipulation,
in his control. He gave himself up to the delight of his
insight, the power of his reproduction, and to the intense
satisfaction of knowing that out of the two there grew
something of more than usually keen intrinsic interest
within the wide creed of his art. He worked with every
nerve tense upon his conception of what he saw, which so
excluded other considerations that now and then, in answer
to some word of hers that distracted him, he spoke to
her almost roughly. At which Elfrida, with a little smile
of forgiving comprehension, obediently kept silence.
She saw the artist in him dominant, and she exulted for
his sake. It was to her delicious to be the medium of
his inspiration, delicious and fit and sweetly acceptable.
And they had agreed upon a charming pose.

Presently Kendal lowered his brush impatiently. "Talk
to me a little," he said resentfully, ignoring his usual
preference that she should not talk because what she said
had always power to weaken the concentration of his
energy. "There is a little muteness about the lips. Am
I very unreasonable? But you don't know what a difficult
creature you are."

She threw up her chin in one of her bewitching ways and
laughed. "I wouldn't be too simple," she returned. She
looked at him with the light of her laughter still in
her eyes, and went on: "I know I must be difficult
--tremendously difficult; because I, whom you see as an
individual, am so many people. Phases of character have
an attraction for me--I wear one to-day and another
to-morrow. It is very flippant, but you see I am honest
about it. And it must make me difficult to paint, for it
can be only by accident that I am the same person twice."

Without answering Kendal made two or three rapid strokes.
"That's better," he said, as if to himself. "Go on talking,
please. What did you say?"

"It doesn't seem to matter much," she answered, with a