His visitors were in the middle of the room; Mrs. Capadose clung to her husband, weeping, sobbing as if her heart would break. Her distress was horrible to Oliver Lyon but his astonishment was greater than his horror when he heard the Colonel respond to it by the words, vehemently uttered, 'Damn him, damn him, damn him!' What in the world had happened? Why was she sobbing and whom was he damning? What had happened, Lyon saw the next instant, was that the Colonel had finally rummaged out his unfinished portrait (he knew the corner where the artist usually placed it, out of the way, with its face to the wall) and had set it up before his wife on an empty easel. She had looked at it a few moments and then--apparently--what she saw in it had produced an explosion of dismay and resentment. She was too busy sobbing and the Colonel was too busy holding her and reiterating his objurgation, to look round or look up. The scene was so unexpected to Lyon that he could not take it, on the spot, as a proof of the triumph of his hand--of a tremendous hit: he could only wonder what on earth was the matter. The idea of the triumph came a little later. Yet he could see the portrait from where he stood; he was startled with its look of life--he had not thought it so masterly. Mrs. Capadose flung herself away from her husband--she dropped into the nearest chair, buried her face in her arms, leaning on a table. Her weeping suddenly ceased to be audible, but she shuddered there as if she were overwhelmed with anguish and shame. Her husband remained a moment staring at the picture; then he went to her, bent over her, took hold of her again, soothed her. 'What is it, darling, what the devil is it?' he demanded. Lyon heard her answer. 'It's cruel--oh, it's too cruel!' 'Damn him--damn him--damn him!' the Colonel repeated. 'It's all there--it's all there!' Mrs. Capadose went on. 'Hang it, what's all there?' 'Everything there oughtn't to be--everything he has seen--it's too dreadful!' 'Everything he has seen? Why, ain't I a good-looking fellow? He has made me rather handsome.' Mrs. Capadose had sprung up again; she had darted another glance at the painted betrayal. 'Handsome? Hideous, hideous! Not that--never, never!' 'Not _what_, in heaven's name?' the Colonel almost shouted. Lyon could see his flushed, bewildered face. 'What he has made of you--what you know! _He_ knows--he has seen. Every one will know--every one will see. Fancy that thing in the Academy!' 'You're going wild, darling; but if you hate it so it needn't go.' 'Oh, he'll send it--it's so good! Come away--come away!' Mrs. Capadose wailed, seizing her husband. 'It's so good?' the poor man cried. 'Come away--come away,' she only repeated; and she turned toward the staircase that ascended to the gallery.