Putting aside his drawing-board, he turned to his friend, and, with an ardour such as he had not displayed since the old days at the Delavan, began to tell of his conception. "I have given up my idea of a single figure. I shall make a bas-relief, a great circular tablet, if you understand, a wall with curving sides, and emblematic figures in high relief. It will be a mighty fine piece of work, Rainsford, if it's ever done." "What will your figures be, Tony?" "Ah, they won't let me see their forms or faces yet." He changed the subject. "What have you done with your Sunday, old man? Slept all day?" "No, I've been sitting for an hour or two with Mrs. Fairfax." Molly's husband murmured, "I'm a brute, and no one knows it better than I do." Rainsford made no refutation of his friend's accusation of himself, but suggested-- "She might bring her sewing in the afternoons, Tony; it would be less lonely for her?" Fairfax noticed the flush that rose along the agent's thin cheek. "By Jove!" Fairfax reflected. "I wonder if old Rainsford is in love with Molly?" The supposition did not make him jealous. The two men went home together, and Rainsford stayed to supper as he had taken a habit of doing, for Fairfax did not wish to be alone. But when at ten o'clock the guest had gone and the engineer and his wife were alone together in their homely room, Fairfax said-- "Don't judge me too harshly, Molly." Judge him? Did he think she did? "You might well, my dear." He took the hand that did all the work for his life and home and which she tried to keep as "ladylike" as she knew, and said, his eyes full on her-- "I do the best I can. I'm an artist, that's the truth of it! There's something in me that's stronger than anything else in the world. I reckon it's talent. I don't know how good it is or how ignoble; but it's brutal, and I've got to satisfy it, Molly." Didn't she know it, didn't Mr. Rainsford tell her? Didn't she want to leave him free? "You're the best girl in the world!" he cried contritely, and checked the words, "You should never have married me." She couldn't see the struggle in him, but she could observe how pale he was. She never caressed him. She had long since learned that it was not what he wanted; but she laid her hand on his head, for he was sitting on the bed, and it might have been his mother who spoke-- "You're clear tired out," she said gently. "Will I fix up a bed for you in the kitchen to-night? You'll lie better." He accepted gratefully. To-morrow, being Monday, was the longest day in the week for him.