He had never met the senior. He had, out of deference to Phil, and contrary to his habitual custom, given him preference over his other sitters, but Eggleston had not kept his appointment and Gregg had postponed the painting of the portrait until the following season. Phil had made excuses, but Adam had only smiled and with the remark--"Time enough next winter," had changed the subject. "No. Let a young girl manage her own affairs," Adam answered in a decided tone, "especially a girl like Madeleine." He had seen too much misery from interfering with a young girl's heart. "What do you advise then?" "To let the storm blow over," Adam replied firmly. "But you've said that for a week and I am no better off. I can't stand it much longer, Old Gentleman. I _must_ see Madeleine, I tell you. What can you do to help? Now--not to-morrow or next week?" "Nothing that would be wise." "But you promised me to go and see her the afternoon we went to smash." "So I did, and I'll go if you wish me to." "When?" "To-morrow morning. It is against my judgment to do anything until you hear from her. A woman always finds the way. Madeleine is no exception. She loves you too well not to. But I'll go, my boy, and try." "You _must_ go. I tell you I can't and won't wait. I have done nothing I'm ashamed of. Our wedding is off, of course, until I can look around and see what I'm going to do, but that's no reason why we can't continue to see each other." * * * * * The butler met him with a polite but decided: "Miss Eggleston is not receiving." "Take her that card," said Gregg. "I'll wait here for an answer." The erect figure of the painter, his perfect address, coupled with the air of command which always seemed a part of him, produced an instantaneous curve in the butler's spine. "Step into the library, sir," he said in a softer tone as he pushed aside the heavy portieres for Adam to enter. Gregg entered the curtain-muffled room with its marble statues, huge Sevres vases and ponderous gold frames, swept a glance over the blue satin sofas and cumbersome chairs in the hope of finding Madeleine curled up somewhere among the heap of cushions, and then, hat in hand, took up his position in front of the cheerless, freshly varnished hearth to await that young lady's coming. What he would say or how he would approach the subject nearest to his heart would depend on her mental attitude. That she loved Phil as dearly as he loved her there was no question. That she had begun to suffer for loss of him was equally sure. A leaf from his own past told him that. Again the butler's step was heard in the hall; there came a sound of an opening door, and Mr. Eggleston entered. As he approached the dealer's description of his white hair and red face--a subject Franz Hal would have loved--came back to the painter. Adam advanced to meet him with that perfect poise which distinguished him in surprises of this kind. "Mr. Eggleston, is it not?"