understood. "Yes, I know," he said, "the light comedy manner." He waved
his hand toward the drawing. "But is it not in the right vein?"

"It is painfully, horribly true," she said. She looked from him to the
canvas, from the canvas to him, and then made a little pathetic gesture
with her hands. "What a jest life is!"

"A game--a wonderful game," he replied, "and a wicked one, when there is
gambling with human hearts."

Then he turned with her toward the other room. As he passed her to draw
aside the curtain she touched his arm with the tips of her fingers so
lightly--as she intended--that he did not feel it. There was a mute,
confiding tenderness in the action more telling than any speech. The
woman had had a brilliant, varied, but lonely life. It must still be
lonely, though now the pleasant vista of a new career kept opening and
closing before her, rendering her days fascinating yet troubled, her
nights full of joyful but uneasy hours. The game thus far had gone against
her. Yet she was popular, merry and amiable!

She passed composedly into the other room. Hagar greeted the young girl,
gave her books and papers, opened the piano, called for some refreshments
and presented both with a rose from a bunch upon the table. The young girl
was perfectly happy to be allowed to sit in the courts without and amuse
herself while the artist and his model should have their hour with pencil
and canvas.

The two then went to the studio again, and, leaving the curtain drawn
back, Hagar arranged Mrs. Detlor in position and began his task. He stood
looking at the canvas for a time, as though to enter into the spirit of it