e, and I want to sit here with him. We need a
little talk together," she explained. And the other two left them, the
old lady leaning on the arm of Birley.

Sydenham lighted a cigar, pushed his chair back, and faced the woman who
looked eagerly at him across the disordered table, her arms along its
edge, her head tilted to a questionable angle. She flew to her point.

"What about Gilbert Ewing--what trouble is he having?"

Sydenham stared vacantly. He seemed to find it necessary to translate
the question into some language of his own.

"Trouble? Oh, all sorts--chrome and indigo, yellow ocher, burnt umber,
rose madder, Chinese white--composition, light and shade, vanishing
points. You'd have to be one of us to understand."

"Other trouble," she insisted sharply--"personal--not about his
painting."

Sydenham stared again, clutching his beard in a dazed search for
inspiration. He did not consider people apart from painting. It was
impossible that anyone should wish to discuss Ewing except in relation
to colors and canvas.

"Well, he has trouble with everything--composition, tone-values,
everything."

"But something _not_ painting."

He looked up at the ceiling helplessly.

"Well, I fancy Randy Teevan worries him."

"Randall Teevan!" She was amazed and alarmed at once.

"Sometimes I get the idea that Randy badgers him, though they're thick
as thieves. The boy wouldn't breathe if Randy said it was bad for the
lungs."

"How long have they been friends?"

By quick, nervous, point-blank queries she drew from him all that he
knew of this intimacy. She puzzled over it.

"Can he know?" She had not meant him to hear this, but he caught the
words, and betrayed something like human interest.

"Trust Randy for that! I found it out myself. He had Kitty's
portrait--Kitty to the life--stunning brush work. Randy has begged the
picture of him for a while. I fancy he didn't want it hanging there for
others to see. And he found the fellow here one afternoon. Kitty told
me. She was nearly taken off her feet by his story but Randy happened in
and cooled things down. It's queer, Randy's setting himself to win over
the chap. It's a puzzle-mix. I wonder about it sometimes when the light
goes."

She had listened in consternation, a rage for battle rising in her. She
was sure Teevan must have some end in view hurtful to Ewing. Yet this
was cunningly hidden. She was still puzzling over this when Sydenham
recalled her. He had f