her, paying no heed to her
salutations. "Glad everything's open. I was afraid it would be all
closed up like a beastly morgue. Hello!"

He stopped before the easel. Upon it I had placed a rough study he had
made for Miss Van Rossum's picture. It was a thing of a few effective
and masterly strokes.

"Good Lord, Dave, but I was a painter for fair, once upon a time! How
did I ever do it?"

He sat there, very still, for a long time, while I watched him. I think
he had forgotten all about me, for, after a time, he rose and pulled out
of a closet some unframed canvasses, which he scattered against the legs
of furniture and contemplated.

"Think I'll make a bonfire of them," he suddenly said. "Won't be such an
idiot as to keep on staring at those things and looking at my stump,
I'll warrant," and he pushed the handless wrist towards me, tied up in a
bit of black silk.

Then the telephone rang.

"Wonder who's the infernal idiot calling up now?" he said. "Go and
answer, Dave. No, I'll go myself and tell him to go to the devil!"

Then came one of those fragmentary conversations. I could not help
hearing it, of course. It surprised me that he spoke quietly, with a
civility of tone and accent I had not expected.

"Yes, came back a few minutes ago----No, Dave ran up here with me, Dave
Cole, you know----Oh! Nothing much----Well, I've lost my hand, the one I
painted with----Yes, I shall be glad to have you do so----Right away?
Yes, if you want to, I mean if you will be so kind. Thank you ever so
much!"

He hung up the receiver and turned to me, his eyes looking rather
haggard.

"It's--it's Sophia Van Rossum. How did she know I was coming?"

"I let her know, of course," I answered rather shortly.

"You think I've treated her pretty badly, don't you?"

"Rottenly, Gordon!"

"I daresay I did. It was a sort of madness that came over me, but--but
there's no excuse. She'll be here in a few minutes. I don't know what I
can say to her. Stay here, Dave, and help me out. I used to tell you
that she was just a society doll, and that sort of thing. Well, she's
pretty strong on society, but she was brought up in it, belonged to it.
But she's a great deal more of a woman than I gave her credit for being;
I've realized it a thousand times since I've been gone. I call it mighty
decent of her to ring me up and offer to come around and see me, after
the way I've behaved to her."

"So do I, Gordon," I approved. "She's got a great big