hands.

"You are standing there and telling me calmly that he did this--this
unspeakable thing?" she exclaimed when the tale was told. Then, after a
momentary pause: "I am trying to imagine the kind of man who could be so
ferociously inhuman. Frankly, I can't, Mr. Prime."

"No, I fancy you can't; I couldn't imagine him myself, and I earn my
living by imagining people--and things. Grider is in a class by himself.
I have always told him that he was born about two thousand years too
late. Back in the time of Julius Caesar, now, they might have appreciated
his classic sense of humor."

He stole a glance at the impassive face framed between the supporting
palms. It was evident that Miss Millington was freezing silently in a
heroic effort to restrain herself from bursting into flames of angry
resentment.

"You may enjoy having such a man for your friend," she suggested with
chilling emphasis, "but I think there are not very many people who would
care to share him with you. Perhaps you have done something to earn the
consequences of this wretched joke, but I am sure _I_ haven't. Why
should he include me?"

Prime suspected that he knew this, too, and he had to summon all his
reserves of fortitude before he could bring himself to the point of
telling her. Yet it was her due.

"I don't know what you will think of me, Miss Millington, but I guess
the truth ought to be told. Grider has always ragged me about my
women--er--that is, the women in my stories, I mean. He says they are
all alike, and all sticks; merely wooden manikins--womanikins, he calls
them--upon which to hang an evening gown. I shouldn't wonder if it were
partly true; I don't know women very well."

"Go on," she commanded.

"The last time I was with Grider--it was about two weeks ago--he was
particularly obnoxious about the girl in my last bit of stuff--the story
that was printed in the _New Era_ last month. He said--er--he said I
ought to be marooned on some desert island with a woman; that after an
experience of that kind I might be able to draw something that wouldn't
be a mere caricature of the sex."

At this, as was most natural, Miss Millington's ice melted in a sudden
and uncontrollable blaze of indignation.

"Are you trying to tell me that this atrocious friend of yours has taken
_me_, a total stranger, to complete his cast of characters in this
wretched burlesque?" she flashed out.

"I don't wish to believe it," he protested. "It doesn't seem