informed
her,--I have no doubt it was Miss Kingsley,--that he was much in my
society, and that we behaved like lovers. I had learned by this time not
to allow my awe for Aunt Agnes to prevent me from defending myself; but
I found exculpation a difficult matter in this instance, on account
of the character of the other offender. She styled my attitude
hypocritical, because I parleyed with the enemy. Even assuming that
there was no flirtation between us,--of which she was by no means
convinced,--what right, she asked, had I, as a neophyte of recent
standing, to be on terms of intimacy with the arch advocate of the
school of thought most opposed to that which I professed?

I mention this in order to explain why I had of late been more chary of
my sympathy in my interviews with the artist, and had given him strict
orders that he was not to send me any more fruit and flowers. However
much I might desire his welfare, self-respect required that I should not
let our friendship become so conspicuous as to attract general
attention. It was shortly after I issued this mandate that he began the
picture to which I have referred; but the immediate result of my words
was a fit of angry despondency.

Two days before Christmas he came to me and said the picture would be
finished and ready for exhibition on Christmas Eve, and that he wished
me to see it first of all. Would I come to his rooms on that afternoon?
As he saw me hesitate, he clasped his hands with so piteous an
expression that I chose not to say no. Why not, after all, thought I. It
was unconventional to be sure. But matrons were out of date and
superfluous in the artistic world. Did not Miss Kingsley go about freely
to studios and wherever the needs of her profession called her? If she
were safe from familiarity, why should not I be? I had a strong belief
in the magic circle of respect which surrounds a thoroughly refined
woman. If I refused the artist's request, I was certain to disappoint
him sorely. It was a small enough favor, I argued, to grant to one who
had been striving bravely to overcome his evil nature at my instigation.

Mr. Barr's studio was up seven flights of stairs in the French roof of a
building which had no elevator, and had doubtless been chosen by him on
account of cheapness and light. Breathless, I paused on the last
landing on the afternoon of the day before Christmas, and in response to
my knock was greeted by the black beard and large eyes of the a