mments on the first canvas which he
displayed.

"She has the long face. D'you see? And the thin long body. But I
couldn't make her a success. That's the joy of Delilah Jeliffe. She
has the temperament of an actress and simply lives in her part. But
this woman couldn't. And lobster suppers and lovely lank ladies are
not synonymous--so I gave her up."

But Porter was reaching for the other sketch.

With it in his hand, he surveyed the small creature with the angel
face. In her dress of pure clear red, with the touch of gold in the
halo, and a lyre in her hand, she seemed lighted by divine fire, above
the earth, appealing.

"I fancy it must have been the man's fault if marriage with such a wife
was a failure," he ventured.

Colin shrugged. "Who can tell?" he said. "There were moments when she
did not seem a saint."

"What do you mean?" Porter's voice was almost irritable.

"It is hard to tell," the little artist reflected--"now and then a
glance, a word--seemed to give her away."

"You may have misunderstood."

"Perhaps. But men who know women rarely misunderstand--that kind."

"Did you ever hear Roger Poole preach?" Porter asked, abruptly.

"Several times. He promised to be a great man. It was a pity."

"And you say she married again."

"Yes, and died shortly after."

The subject ended there, and Porter went away with the vision in his
mind of Roger's wife, and of what the picture of the little saint in
red would mean to Mary Ballard if she could see it.

The thought, having lodged like an evil seed, grew and flourished.

Of late he had seen comparatively little of Mary. He was not sure
whether she planned deliberately to avoid him, or whether her work
really absorbed her. That she wrote to Roger Poole he knew. She did
not try to hide the fact, but spoke frankly of Roger's life in the
pines.

The flames of his jealous thought burned high and hot. He refused to
go with his father and mother to the northern coast, preferring to stay
and swelter in the heat of Washington where he could be near Mary. He
grew restless and pale, unlike himself. And he found in Leila a
confidante and friend, for the General, like Mr. Jeliffe, was held in
town by the late Congress.

Little-Lovely Leila was Little-Lonely Leila now. Yet after her
collapse at the boat, she had shown her courage. She had put away
childish things and was developing into a steadfast little woman, who
busied herself with mak