enace and loom!"

He laughed in a half-hearted fashion, then his head fell again slowly,
and he sat there brooding, silent.

"Louis, why are you always dissatisfied?"

"I always will be, I suppose." His discontented gaze grew more vague.

"Can you never learn to enjoy the moment?"

"It goes too quickly, and there are so many others which promise more,
and will never fulfil their promise; I know it. We painters know it when
we dare to think clearly. It is better not to think too clearly--better
to go on and pretend to expect attainment.... Stephanie, sometimes I
wish I were in an honest business--selling, buying--and could close up
shop and go home to pleasant dreams."

"Can't you?"

"No. It's eternal obsession. A painter's work is never ended. It goes on
with some after they are asleep; and then they go crazy," he added, and
laughed and laid his hand lightly and unthinkingly over hers where it
rested on the arm of her chair. And he remained unaware of her delicate
response to the contact.

The stars were clear and liquid-bright, swarming in myriads in the June
sky. A big meteor fell, leaving an incandescent arc which faded
instantly.

"I wonder what time it is," Be said.

"You mustn't miss your train, must you?"

"No." ... Suddenly it struck him that it would be one o'clock before he
could get to the studio and call up Valerie. That would be too late. He
couldn't awake her just for the pleasure of talking to her. Besides, he
was sure to see her in the morning when she came to him for her
portrait.... Yet--yet--he wanted to talk to her.... There seemed to be
no particular reason for this desire.

"I think I'll just step to the telephone a moment." He rose, and her
fingers dropped from his hand. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Not at all," she smiled. "The stars are very faithful friends. I'll be
well guarded until you come back, Louis."

What she said, for some reason, made him slightly uncomfortable. He was
thinking of her words as he called up "long distance" and waited.
Presently Central called him with a brisk "Here's your party!" And very
far away he heard her voice:

"I know it is _you_. Is it?"

"Who?"

"It is! I recognise your voice. But _which_ is it--Kelly or Louis or Mr.
Neville?"

"All three," he replied, laughing.

"But which gentleman is in the ascendant? The god-like one? Or the
conventional Mr. Neville? Or--the bad and very lovable and very human
Louis?"

"Stop talking-nonsense, Va