covered a kind of cryptic index to the painter's personality--a clue
which, if tactfully followed, might lead to much.

Several days after his first visit to the studio, MacMaster wrote to
Lady Mary Percy, telling her that he would be in London for some time
and asking her if he might call. Lady Mary was an only sister of Lady
Ellen Treffinger, the painter's widow, and MacMaster had known her
during one winter he spent at Nice. He had known her, indeed, very well,
and Lady Mary, who was astonishingly frank and communicative upon
all subjects, had been no less so upon the matter of her sister's
unfortunate marriage.

In her reply to his note Lady Mary named an afternoon when she would be
alone. She was as good as her word, and when MacMaster arrived he
found the drawing room empty. Lady Mary entered shortly after he was
announced. She was a tall woman, thin and stiffly jointed, and her body
stood out under the folds of her gown with the rigor of cast iron.
This rather metallic suggestion was further carried out in her heavily
knuckled hands, her stiff gray hair, and her long, bold-featured face,
which was saved from freakishness only by her alert eyes.

"Really," said Lady Mary, taking a seat beside him and giving him a sort
of military inspection through her nose glasses, "really, I had begun to
fear that I had lost you altogether. It's four years since I saw you
at Nice, isn't it? I was in Paris last winter, but I heard nothing from
you."

"I was in New York then."

"It occurred to me that you might be. And why are you in London?"

"Can you ask?" replied MacMaster gallantly.

Lady Mary smiled ironically. "But for what else, incidentally?"

"Well, incidentally, I came to see Treffinger's studio and his
unfinished picture. Since I've been here, I've decided to stay the
summer. I'm even thinking of attempting to do a biography of him."

"So that is what brought you to London?"

"Not exactly. I had really no intention of anything so serious when I
came. It's his last picture, I fancy, that has rather thrust it upon me.
The notion has settled down on me like a thing destined."

"You'll not be offended if I question the clemency of such a destiny,"
remarked Lady Mary dryly. "Isn't there rather a surplus of books on that
subject already?"

"Such as they are. Oh, I've read them all"--here MacMaster faced Lady
Mary triumphantly. "He has quite escaped your amiable critics," he
added, smiling.

"I know well enough