oak mantel, in a gold frame, was a large
coloured print of a Magdalen, doubled up in grief, with a glory of loose,
Titian hair, chosen by Ditmar himself as expressing the nearest possible
artistic representation of his ideal of the female form. Cora Ditmar's
objections on the score of voluptuousness and of insufficient clothing
had been vain. She had recognized no immorality of sentimentality in the
art itself; what she felt, and with some justice, was that this
particular Magdalen was unrepentant, and that Ditmar knew it. And the
picture remained an offence to her as long as she lived. Formerly he had
enjoyed the contemplation of this figure, reminding him, as it did, of
mellowed moments in conquests of the past; suggesting also possibilities
of the future. For he had been quick to discount the attitude of bowed
despair, the sop flung by a sensuous artist to Christian orthodoxy. He
had been sceptical about despair--feminine despair, which could always be
cured by gifts and baubles. But to-night, as he raised his eyes, he felt
a queer sensation marring the ecstatic perfection of his mood. That
quality in the picture which so long had satisfied and entranced him had
now become repellent, an ugly significant reflection of something
--something in himself he was suddenly eager to repudiate and deny. It
was with a certain amazement that he found himself on his feet with the
picture in his hand, gazing at the empty space where it had hung. For he
had had no apparent intention of obeying that impulse. What should he do
with it? Light the fire and burn it--frame and all? The frame was an
integral part of it. What would his housekeeper say? But now that he had
actually removed it from the wall he could not replace it, so he opened
the closet door and thrust it into a corner among relics which had found
refuge there. He had put his past in the closet; yet the relief he felt
was mingled with the peculiar qualm that follows the discovery of
symptoms never before remarked. Why should this woman have this
extraordinary effect of making him dissatisfied with himself? He sat down
again and tried to review the affair from that first day when he had
surprised in her eyes the flame dwelling in her. She had completely upset
his life, increasingly distracted his mind until now he could imagine no
peace unless he possessed her. Hitherto he had recognized in his feeling
for her nothing but that same desire he had had for other women,
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