if spoken absently, as if she were
preoccupied in search for a certain paper. Instead it was an eldritch
note in the room, like the croak of an evil bird... He was standing
near the outer door. Something of her tumult must have come to him, she
thought, for his voice was strangely altered when he asked:

"Will three or four days make any difference about the picture?"

... She would not see him again. He could not come back here to-morrow
nor afterward. He must go away now... She thought of her wail to the
Grey One that he would not go to the ocean with Wordling... It meant
nothing to him; she could not punish _him_ by keeping him away... But
the picture--that final inner lustre. It had come to her this
morning--what havoc in the memory--and she had seen it that day in the
great gallery before his _Race Mother_, but had been unable quite to
hold it in mind until the working light of the following day... She
must not add to her own punishment, after all her care and labor, by
failing in the last touch. And yet he must not come again...

"The picture, did you say?"

He repeated his question.

"Why, the picture is practically done," she said. "I'll sign and
deliver it to-morrow. I think it will get to you to-morrow. The long,
ridiculously long, preliminary work gave me the modelling, as well as I
could have it.... This weather makes one think of the ocean or the
mountains----"

She had forgotten this gray day of winds. Her sentence, and the design
of it, had been founded upon the recent run of superb spring days.

"There's a little thing that needs doing by the ocean--that's why I
go." His words seemed to come from a distance.

"It would not do for you to look at the picture here. You'd feel
expected to say something pretty--or most would. I want it out of its
work-light, then you can judge and send it back if it's bad. I'll try
to have it at the Club to-morrow.... You did not know this was the
final sitting, did you?"

She was talking feverishly, in fear of his questions. She knew it must
sound strange and unreasonable to his mind.

"No," he said gently. "You always surprise me. And the ride--Saturday?"

"Yes, the ride.... We must start----"

"Early?"

"Yes. We'll meet--at the Thirty-fourth Street boat--at seven."

"I thank you. And good-by."

There was something amazing to her in his capacity not to question. In
her weakness she was grateful almost to tears. She would not show him
her hurt, but crosse