en that old fellow
of fifty has found a companion with a look in his eyes of the woman he
loved and who carries in his face something of the joy he knew in
youth, it is no wonder that these two became still greater friends, or
that Philip's tread outside Adam Gregg's door was always followed by a
quick beat of the painter's heart and a warm grasp of his hand.

One afternoon Philip came in with a spring quite different from either
his nervous walk or his more measured tread--his "bank director's
step" Adam used to call it with a smile. This time he was on his toes,
his hands in the air tossing the velvet curtains aside with a swing as
he sprang inside.

"Madeleine's home from the West!" he burst out. "Now at last you'll
see her, and you've got to paint her, too. Oh, she knows all about the
portrait and how you found it; and this studio and the blossoms you
love, and everything. My letters have been full of nothing else all
winter. She's crazy to see you."

"Not any more crazy than I am to see her," laughed Adam, with his hand
on the young man's shoulder.

And so one spring morning--all beautiful things came to him on spring
mornings, Adam told her--Madeleine pushed her pretty little head
between the velvet curtains and peered in, Phil close behind her, a
bunch of violets in his button-hole.

"This is dear Adam Gregg, Madeleine," was her lover's introduction,
"and there's nobody like him, and never will be."

The girl stopped, the overhead light falling on her dainty hat and
trim figure; her black eyes in comprehensive glance taking in Adam
standing against a hazy background of beautiful things with both hands
outstretched.

"And I am so glad to be here and to know you," she said, walking
straight towards him and laying her little hands in his.

"And so am I," answered Adam. "And I know everything about you. Phil
says you can ride like the wind, and dance so that your toes never
touch the floor, and that you----"

"Yes, and so do I know every single thing about you"--here she looked
at him critically--"and you--yes, you are just as I hoped you would
be. Phil's letters have had nothing else in them since you bewitched
him and I've just been wild to get home and have him bring me here.
What a lovely place! Isn't it wonderful, Phil?... And is that the
portrait? Oh! what a beautiful, beautiful woman!"

She had left Gregg now--before he had had time to say another word in
praise of her--and was standing under the