the master's contemplation. He looked up, relieved to be drawn for a
moment from his reflection.

"What is it, Saunders?" he asked, leaning back and grasping the arms of
his chair with a gesture of control familiar to him.

"Mrs. Martin Marteen is here, very anxious to see you. She let me
understand it was about the Heim Vandyke. I knew you were interested, so
I ventured, Mr. Gard--"

"Yes, yes--quite right. Let her come in here." He rose as he spoke,
shook his cuffs, pulled down his waistcoat and ran a hand over his bald
spot and silvery hair. Marcus Gard was still a handsome man. He remained
standing, and, as the door reopened, advanced to meet his guest. She
came forward, smiling, and, taking a white-gloved hand from her sable
muff, extended it graciously.

"Very nice of you to receive me, Mr. Gard," she said, and the tone of
her mellow voice was clear and decisive. "I know what a busy man you
are."

"At your service." He bowed, waved her to a seat and sank once more into
his favorite chair, watching her the while intently. If she had come to
negotiate the sale of the Heim Vandyke, let her set forth the
conditions. It was no part of his plan to show how much he coveted the
picture. In the meantime she was very agreeable to look at. Her strong,
regular features suggested neither youth nor age. She was of the goddess
breed. Every detail of the lady's envelope was perfect--velvet and fur,
a glimpse of exquisite antique lace, a sheen of pearl necklace, neither
so large as to be ostentatious nor so small as to suggest economy. The