forever. When I can't see beauty in woman I want to die."

"And you always want to see it in the superlative degree."

"I insist upon it. If she lacks something, as Donna Isobel wanted
color, I imagine that it is there, and she is perfect! But this
one that I saw to-night is perfect! Now what I want to know is
this, Who the deuce is she!"

--"where can she be found, and will she sit for a 'Burke,' two or
three miscellaneous, and a 'study' for the annual sale," struck in
Whittemore. "Is that it?"

"Exactly. You've a natural ability for hitting the nail on the
head, Phil."

"And Burke told you to take a rest."

Gregson offered his cigarettes.

"Yes, Burke is a good-natured, poetic old soul who has a horror of
spiders, snakes, and sky-scrapers. He said to me: 'Greggy, go and
seek nature in some quiet, secluded place, and forget everything
for a fortnight or two except your clothes and half a dozen cases
of beer.' Rest! Nature! Beer! Think of those cheerful suggestions,
Phil, while I was dreaming of Valencia, of Donna Isobels, and
places where Nature cuts up as though she had been taking
champagne all her life. Gad, your letter came just in time!"

"And I told you little enough in that," said Philip, quickly,