anged--but lacking the presence of Maryon Rooke and
Nan.

CHAPTER XXX

SEEKING TO FORGET

"And this is my holiday!" exclaimed Maryon, standing back from his
easel the better to view the effect of his work. "Nan, you've a lot to
answer for."

Another fortnight had gone by, and the long hours passed is the
music-room, which had been temporarily converted into a studio, were
beginning to show fruit in the shape of a nearly completed portrait.

Nan slipped down from the makeshift "throne."

"May I come and look?"

Rooke moved aside.

"Yes, if you like. I've been working at the face to-day."

She regarded the picture for some time in silence, Rooke watching her
intently the while.

"Well?" he said at last, interrogatively.

"Maryon"--she spoke slowly--"do I really look like--that?"

He nodded.

"Yes," he replied quietly. "When you let yourself go--when you take
off the meaningless mask I complained of."

With that uncanny discernment of his--that faculty for painting
people's souls, as Nan described it--he had sensed the passionate,
wistful, unhappy spirit which looked out from her eyes, and the face on
the canvas gave back a dumb appeal that was almost painfully arresting.

Nan frowned.

"You'd no right to do it," she exclaimed a little breathlessly.

"I painted what I saw."

She was silent, tremulously disturbed. He could see the quick rise and
fall of her breast beneath the filmy white of her gown.

"Nan," he went on in low, tense tones. "Did you think I could be with
you, day after day like this, and not--find out? Could I have painted
your face, loving each line of it, and not learned the truth?" She
stretched out her hand as though to check him, but he paid no heed.
"The truth that Roger is nothing to you--never will be!"

"He's the man I'm going to marry," she said unevenly.

"And I'm only the man who loves you! . . . But because I failed once,
putting love second, must I be punished eternally? I'm ready to put it
first now--to lay all I have and all I've done on its altar."

"What--what do you mean?" she stammered.

He put his hands lightly on her shoulders and drew her nearer to him.

"Is it hard to guess, Nan? . . . I want you to leave this life you
hate and come with me. Let me take you away--right away from it
all--and, somewhere we'll find happiness together."

She stared at him with wide, horrified eyes.

"Oh, you're mad--you're mad!"

With a struggle she fre