When he
did it was invariably heralded in advance that "Gregg was coming," a
fact which always decided uncertain guests to say "Yes" to their
hostess's invitation.

And yet he was not a recluse in the accepted sense of the word, nor
did he lead a sad life. He only preferred to enjoy it alone, or with
one or two men who understood him.

While casual acquaintances--especially those in carriages--were denied
access when he was absorbed on some work of importance, the younger
painters--those who were struggling up the ladder--were always
welcome. For these the concierge was given special instructions. Then
everything would be laid aside; their sketches gone over and their
points settled, no matter how long it took or how many hours of his
precious time were given to their service. Many of these lads--not
alone his own countrymen, but many who could not speak his
language--often found a crisp, clean bank-note in their hands when the
painter's fingers pressed their own in parting. Of only one thing was
he intolerant, and that was sham. The insincere, the presuming and the
fraudulent always irritated him; so did the slightest betrayal of a
trust. Then his dark-brown eyes would flash, his shoulders straighten,
and there would roll from his lips a denunciation which those who
heard never forgot--an outburst all the more startling because coming
from one of so gentle and equable a temperament.

During all the years of his exile no word had come from Olivia. He had
once seen Judge Colton's name in one of the Paris papers in connection
with a railroad case in which some French investors were interested,
but nothing more had met his eye.

Had he been of a different temperament he would have forgotten her and
that night in the improvised studio, but he was not constituted to
forget. He was constituted to remember, and to remember with all his
soul. Every day of his life he had missed her; never was there a night
that she was not in his thoughts before he dropped to sleep. What
would have been his career had fate brought them together before the
blight fell upon her? What intimacies, what enjoyment, what ideals
nurtured and made real. And the companionship, the instant sympathy,
the sureness of an echo in her heart, no matter how low and soft his
whisper! These thoughts were never absent from his mind.

Moreover, his life had been one of standards: the greatest painter,
the greatest picture, the finest piece of bronze. It was s