."

"Certainly," said Leighton. "I'll walk by there with you."

Vi gave a shrug of protest, but Leighton's back was already turned. He
fetched the key, and together they walked over to Lewis's atelier. When
they had climbed the stairs and were at the door, Vi said a little
breathlessly and without a drawl:

"Do you mind very much not coming in? I won't be but a minute."

Leighton glanced at her, surprised. "Not at all," he said, and handed
her the key. He took out a cigarette and lit it as she opened the door
and closed it behind her. He started pacing up and down the bare hall.
Presently he grew impatient, and glanced at his watch; then he stopped
short in his tracks. From behind the closed door came unmistakably the
sound of a woman sobbing.

Leighton did not hesitate. He threw open the door and walked in. Except
for Vi, curled up in a little heap on the couch, the atelier was very
still, vast, somber. In its center shone a patch of light. In the patch
of light, on a low working pedestal, stood a statue. On the floor were a
tumbled cloth and a fallen screen. Leighton stood stock-still and
stared.

The sculptured figure was that of a woman veiled in draperies that were
merely suggested. Her face, from where Leighton stood, was turned away.
Her right arm was half outstretched, her left hung at her side, but it
was peculiarly turned, as though to draw the watcher on. Then there was
the left thigh. Once the eye fell on that, all else was forgotten. Into
this sinking sweep had gone all the artist's terrific force of
expression and suggestion. No live man would have thought of the figure
as "Woman Leading the Way," once his eyes had fallen on that thigh. To
such a one the statue named itself with a single flash to the brain, and
the name it spoke was "Invitation."

Leighton's first impulse was one of unbounded admiration--the admiration
we give to unbounded power. Then realization and a frown began to come
slowly to his face. Vi, crumpled up on the couch, and sobbing hard, dry
sobs,--the sobs that bring age,---helped him to realization. Lewis, his
boy, had done a base thing.

Without moving, Leighton glanced about the room till his eyes fell on
the mallet. Then he stepped quickly to it, picked it up, and crossed to
the statue. Beneath his quick blows the brittle clay fell from the
skeleton wires in great, jagged chunks. With his foot he crushed a few
of them to powder. He tossed the mallet aside, and glanced at Vi.