few men, in these days, who are shy in the presence of women? And was
the change in Stella attributable, perhaps, to the state of her health?
The explanation might, in either case, be the right one. He tried to set
them at their ease.

"Mr. Winterfield is so pleased with the pictures, that he means to come
and see them again," he said to his wife. "And one of his favorites
happens to be your favorite, too."

She tried to look at Winterfield, but her eyes sank. She could turn
toward him, and that was all. "Is it the sea-piece in the study?" she
said to him faintly.

"Yes," he answered, with formal politeness; "it seems to me to be one of
the painter's finest works."

Romayne looked at him in unconcealed wonder. To what flat commonplace
Winterfield's lively enthusiasm had sunk in Stella's presence! She
perceived that some unfavorable impression had been produced on her
husband, and interposed with a timely suggestion. Her motive was not
only to divert Romayne's attention from Winterfield, but to give him a
reason for leaving the room.

"The little water-color drawing in my bedroom is by the same artist,"
she said. "Mr. Winterfield might like to see it. If you will ring the
bell, Lewis, I will send my maid for it."

Romayne had never allowed the servants to touch his works of art, since
the day when a zealous housemaid had tried to wash one of his plaster
casts. He made the reply which his wife had anticipated.

"No! no!" he said. "I will fetch the drawing myself." He turned gayly to
Winterfield. "Prepare yourself for another work that you would like to
kiss." He smiled, and left the room.

The instant the door was closed, Stella approached Winterfield. Her
beautiful face became distorted by a mingled expression of rage and
contempt. She spoke to him in a fierce peremptory whisper.

"Have you any consideration for me left?" His look at her, as she put
that question, revealed the most complete contrast between his face
and hers. Compassionate sorrow was in his eyes, tender forbearance and
respect spoke in his tones, as he answered her.

"I have more than consideration for you, Stella--"

She angrily interrupted him. "How dare you call me by my Christian
name?"

He remonstrated, with a gentleness that might have touched the heart of
any woman. "Do you still refuse to believe that I never deceived you?
Has time not softened your heart to me yet?"

She was more contemptuous toward him than ever. "Spare me your