“If he marries her,” added Guilder, “as it’s generally understood he is trying to, the best sculptor’s model in town is out of the question. Better secure her now.” “He wants to marry her?” repeated Drene, in a curiously still voice. “He’s mad about her. He’s abject. It’s no secret among his friends. Men like that--and of that age--sometimes arrive at such a terminal--men with Graylock’s record sometimes get theirs. She has given him a run, believe me, and he’s brought up with a crash against a stone wall. He is lying there all doubled up at her feet like a rabbit with a broken back. There was nothing left for him to do but lie there. He’s lying there still, with one of her little feet on his bull neck. All the town knows it.” “He wants to marry her,” repeated Drene, as though to himself. “She may not take him at that. They’re queer--some women. I suppose she’d jump at it if she were not straight. But there’s another thing--” Guilder looked curiously at Drene. “Some people think she’s rather crazy about you.” Drene gazed into space. “But that wouldn’t hurt her,” added Guilder, in his calm, pleasant voice. “She’s a straight little thing--white and straight. She could come to no harm through a man like you.” Drene continued to stare at space. “So,” continued the other, confident, “when she recovers from a natural and childlike infatuation for you she’ll marry somebody... Possibly even such a man as Graylock might make her happy. You can’t ever tell about such men at the eleventh hour.” Drene turned his eyes on him. There was no trace of color in his face. “Aren’t you pretty damned charitable?” “Charitable? Well, I--I’m so inclined, I fancy.” “You’d be content to see that girl marry a dog like that?” “I did not say so. I am no judge of men. No man knows enough to condemn souls.” Drene looked at him: “Well, I’ll tell you something. I know enough to do it. I had rather damn my soul--and hers, too--than see her marry the man you have named. It would be worth it to me.” After a strained silence, Guilder said: “There is a mode of dealing with those who have injured you, which is radically different--” “I deal with such people in my own fashion!” “But, after all, the infamy is Graylock’s. Why oblige him by sharing it with him?” “Do you know what he did to me and mine?” “A few of us know,” said Guilder, gently, “--your old friends.” There came a pale, infernal flicker into Drene’s eyes: “I’ll take your commission for that altar piece,” he said. “What is it? An Annunciation?” IV