Rokeby took his drink, contented not to interrupt; he watched Osborn,
and saw the light play over his face, and the thoughts full of beauty
come and go. At length, following the direction of some thought, again
it was Osborn who broke the mutual quiet, exclaiming:

"I've never shown you her latest portrait!"

"Let's look. I'd love to."

The lover rose, opened the drawer of a writing-table, and took out a
photograph, a very modern affair, of most artistic mounting. He handed
it jealously to Desmond and was silent while the other man looked. The
girl's face, wondrously young and untroubled, frail, angelic, rose from
a slender neck and shoulders swathed in a light gauze cloud. Her gay
eyes gazed straight out. Rokeby looked longer than he knew, very
thoughtfully, and Osborn put his hand upon the portrait, pulled it away
as jealously as he had given it, and said:

"They've almost done her justice for once."

"Top-hole, old man," Rokeby replied sympathetically.




CHAPTER II

IRREVOCABLE