arm," said West, "and if
that is true, I am wasting my time."

There was a look of bitterness in his eyes that was not lost upon
Barbara. And she was troubled.

"Of course," she said, "if you _like_ to waste your time--"

He looked her straight in the eyes. "I do," he said, "I love to. No
man's life would ever be complete if he didn't waste the best part of
it--throw it away on something or other--on an ambition--on an
ideal--on a woman."

Barbara returned his glance. "Just what, Mr. West," she said, "is the
idea?"

And here, Mr. Harry West might have found the sudden courage to speak
out what was in his heart, had he not remembered that to all intents and
purposes he had no father, and consequently in the eyes of the great
world to which Barbara belonged could not be considered to have any
existence.

"Oh," he said, "I was just talking through my hat."

Barbara, who, you may say, had been unconsciously putting out tentacles
of affection toward Harry West, at once withdrew them, and said coolly:
"So I supposed."

"May I look at the bust?"

"Certainly."

She removed the damp cloths from her work, and Harry found himself
looking into the legless man's face. The features at once attracted and
repelled him, and these sensations mingled with them feelings of wonder.
Some subconscious knowledge told the young man authoritatively that he
was looking on a master work. Barbara noticed this, and her heart
warmed, and her pride was gratified.

"I'm going to hurt your feelings," she said.

"Mine? Don't. Please don't."

"If you," she said, "devoted the next twenty years of your life to
wickedness and vengeful thoughts you would get to look like my friend,
Mr. Blizzard."

Now that same thought had occurred, and not for the first time, to Harry
West, but he did not care to admit it. So he laughed gently, and said:

"In that case I shall devote the next twenty years of my life to
philanthropy and--loving thoughts."

He turned toward her, all smiling. And she avoided his eyes without
appearing to do so.

XIV

The next morning Blizzard was fifteen minutes late to his appointment
with Barbara. He had sat up all night with O'Hagan, talking
energetically, and for once in his life he felt tired. To this feeling
was added the fear--almost ridiculous under the circumstances--that
Barbara would scold him for being late. Unscrupulous brute that he was,
his infatuation for her was humanizing him. And in the whole