ss
Kingsley was gone I felt an impulse to thank him, and to explain, so
far as was possible, my presence at the studio.

"Believe me, Mr. Spence, I am very grateful to you for your aid," I
began. "It was very inconsiderate and imprudent of me to go there alone;
but he was so anxious for me to see the picture before any one else,
that I was foolish enough to consider it allowable. I had no idea that
it was a portrait of me, and none that he cared for me in the way it
seems he does. I have tried to be kind to him, for I felt he was lonely,
and might be saved from excesses by a sympathetic influence. But I see
my mistake now. I ought to have known."

An indefinable wish that Mr. Spence should know the exact truth loosened
my tongue.

"I understand--I understand perfectly," he said in an emotional tone.
"It is I that am to blame. I might have prevented it," he added, as
though speaking to himself.

Surprise prevented me from saying more, for I could not see how Mr.
Spence was in any way responsible. Nor did he, on his part, continue the
conversation. In five minutes we were at my door.

"Will you not come in, Mr. Spence?"

"No, not to-night." He paused an instant. "At what hour are you likely
to be at home and disengaged to-morrow?" he asked with suddenness.

"To-morrow? At almost any time. Shall we say four?"

Mr. Spence bowed by way of acquiescence. He seemed so stiff that I
feared he was offended with me. But if so, why did he wish to come
to-morrow?

"Before you go, you must let me thank you once more for having saved me
from a very awkward predicament," I said, holding out my hand. "What
should I have done if you had not arrived?" I shuddered involuntarily.

"Poor girl, how you must have suffered!" he exclaimed in a voice full of
feeling. Then he turned abruptly and left me.

VI.

As soon as I was safe at home, a terrible reaction followed. I went to
bed prostrated physically, and sick at heart. True as it doubtless was
that Paul Barr would never voluntarily have insulted me, I had
deliberately exposed myself to the tipsy eccentricities of a man whose
habits were not unknown. Might I not also have discovered, if I had been
wholly candid with myself, that there was genuine feeling in the words
of devotion he had so frequently whispered to me, and that under the
extravagance of his behavior there lurked a vein of real sentiment? So
much is apparent and stands out in another light when one looks
back ins