es, yes. The dimmer the--I mean, yes, in a dim light. Suppose we leave
it in the corner for the moment--over there--behind the sofa, and--and
I'll think it over. It wants a lot of thought, you know."

"Right-o! Here?"

"Yes, that will do splendidly. Oh, and, Archie."

"Hullo?"

"I think perhaps... Just turn its face to the wall, will you?" Lucille
gave a little gulp. "It will prevent it getting dusty."

It perplexed Archie a little during the next few days to notice in
Lucille, whom he had always looked on as pre-eminently a girl who knew
her own mind, a curious streak of vacillation. Quite half a dozen times
he suggested various spots on the wall as suitable for the Venus, but
Lucille seemed unable to decide. Archie wished that she would settle on
something definite, for he wanted to invite J. B. Wheeler to the suite
to see the thing. He had heard nothing from the artist since the day he
had removed the picture, and one morning, encountering him on Broadway,
he expressed his appreciation of the very decent manner in which the
other had taken the whole affair.

"Oh, that!" said J. B. Wheeler. "My dear fellow, you're welcome." He
paused for a moment. "More than welcome," he added. "You aren't much of
an expert on pictures, are you?"

"Well," said Archie, "I don't know that you'd call me an absolute nib,
don't you know, but of course I know enough to see that this particular
exhibit is not a little fruity. Absolutely one of the best things you've
ever done, laddie."

A slight purple tinge manifested itself in Mr. Wheeler's round and rosy
face. His eyes bulged.

"What are you talking about, you Tishbite? You misguided son of Belial,
are you under the impression that _I_ painted that thing?"

"Didn't you?"

Mr. Wheeler swallowed a little convulsively.

"My fiancee painted it," he said shortly.

"Your fiancee? My dear old lad, I didn't know you were engaged. Who is
she? Do I know her?"

"Her name is Alice Wigmore. You don't know her."

"And she painted that picture?" Archie was perturbed. "But, I say! Won't
she be apt to wonder where the thing has got to?"

"I told her it had been stolen. She thought it a great compliment, and
was tickled to death. So that's all right."

"And, of course, she'll paint you another."

"Not while I have my strength she won't," said J. B. Wheeler firmly.
"She's given up painting since I taught her golf, thank goodness, and
my best efforts shall be employed in seeing that sh