y at the door in an hour. He again went to
his room, put on a riding suit, came down and walked out across the
esplanade and into the street where Hagar's rooms were. They were lighted.
He went to the hall door, opened it quietly and entered the hall. He
tapped at the door of Hagar's sitting room. As he did so a servant came
out, and, in reply to a question, said that Mr. Hagar had gone to the
Tempe hotel and would be back directly. He went in and sat down. The
curtains were drawn back between the two rooms. He saw the easels, with
their backs to the archway. He rose, went in and looked at the sketches in
the dim light.

He started, flushed, and his lips drew back over his teeth with an
animallike fierceness, but immediately he was composed again. He got two
candles, brought them and set them on a stand between the easels. Then he
sat down and studied the paintings attentively. He laughed once with a dry
recklessness. "This tells her story admirably. He is equal to his subject.
To be hung in the academy. Well, well!"

He heard the outer door open, then immediately Hagar entered the room and
came forward to where he sat. The artist was astonished, and for the
instant embarrassed. Telford rose. "I took the liberty of waiting for you,
and, seeing the pictures, was interested."

Hagar bowed coldly. He waved his hand toward the pictures. "I hope you
find them truthful."

"I find them, as I said, interesting. They will make a sensation. And is
there anything more necessary? You are a lucky man, and you have the
ability to take advantage of it. Yes, I greatly admire your ability. I can
do that, at least, though we are enemies, I suppose."

His words were utterly without offense. A melancholy smile played on his
lips. Again Hagar bowed, but did not speak.

Telford went on. "We are enemies, and yet I have done you no harm. You
have injured me, have insulted me, and yet I do not resent it, which is
strange, as my friends in a wilder country would tell you."

Hagar was impressed, affected. "How have I injured you? By painting
these?"

"The injury is this: I loved a woman and wronged her, but not beyond
reparation. Years passed. I saw her and loved her still. She might still
have loved me, but another man came in. It was you. That was one injury.
Then"--He took up a candle and held it to the sketch of the discovery.
"This is perfect in its art and chivalry. It glorifies the girl. That is
right." He held the candle above th