had been their rule; but long
after her neck and back and thighs and limbs begged for relief, she held
the pose, reluctant to interrupt him. When at last she could endure it
no longer she moved; but her right leg had lost not only all sense of
feeling but all power to support her; and down she came with a surprised
and frightened little exclamation--and he sprang to her and swung her to
her feet again.

"Valerie! You bad little thing! Don't you know enough to stop when
you're tired?"

[Illustration: "He picked up a bit of white chalk ... and traced on the
floor the outline of her shoes."]

"I--didn't know I was so utterly gone," she said, bewildered.

He passed his arm around her and supported her to the sofa where she
sat, demure, a little surprised at her collapse, yet shyly enjoying his
disconcerted attentions to her.

"It's your fault, Kelly. You had such a queer expression--not at all
like you--that I tried harder than ever to help you--and fell down for
my pains."

"You're an angel," he said, contritely, "but a silly one."

"A scared one, Kelly--and a fallen one." She laughed, flexing the
muscles of her benumbed leg: "Your expression intimidated me. I didn't
recognise you; I could not form any opinion of what was going on inside
that very stern and frowning head of yours. If you look like that I'll
never dare call you Kelly."

"Did I seem inhuman?"

"N-no. On the contrary--very human--ordinary--like the usual
ill-tempered artist man, with whom I have learned how to deal. You
know," she added, teasingly, "that you are calm and god-like,
usually--and when you suddenly became a mere mortal--"

"I'll tell you what I'll do with you," he said; "I'll pick you up and
put you to bed."

"I wish you would, Kelly. I haven't had half enough sleep."

He sat down beside her on the sofa: "Don't talk any more of that
god-like business," he growled, "or I'll find the proper punishment."

"Would _you_ punish _me_, Kelly?"

"I sure would."

"If I displeased you?"

"You bet."

"Really?" She turned partly toward him, half in earnest.
"Suppose--suppose--" but she stopped suddenly, with a light little laugh
that lingered pleasantly in the vast, still room.

She said: "I begin to think that there are two Kellys--no, _one_ Kelly
and _one_ Louis. Kelly is familiar to me; I seem to have known him all
my life--the happy part of my life. Louis I have just seen for the first
time--there at the easel, painting, peering