She agreed, and they sat down to a merry meal. The lady surpassed herself in brilliancy, and her mad gayety infected Middleton. Forgetful of his honor and allegiance, he leaned over to toast his guest, with a passionate gaze in his eyes. Insensibly the evening sped away; suddenly the clock struck twelve. "I am going now," she said. "Ah, you won't leave me!" cried Middleton. "For the moment." "But when shall I see you again?" "As soon as you like, but not later than you must." "You are charmingly mysterious. Tell me where you are going?" "To my home." "If you won't come to me, I shall come to you," he insisted. "Yes, you will come to me," she answered, smiling. "And we shall be together?" "Yes." "As long as ever I like?" "Yes--longer." "Impossible! Eternity would not be too long." "_Nous verrons_," said she, with a laugh. "At least you will write? You'll send me your picture?" "I never write, and you have my picture." "And another in my heart," he cried hotly. "I have tried to put it there." "But give me some token--anything--a ribbon--a glove--anything." "Well, let it be a glove. As I go I will give you a glove." She rose from her chair and rested her right hand on the table. "Till we meet again!" she said. "I am yours for ever!" he cried, seizing her hand. "True! true!" she answered triumphantly. "You are mine forever!" and with a sudden movement she drew her arm away from him and left on the table--her glove, was it, or her hand? It seemed her very hand! and as Middleton looked up he had a vision of a blood-red claw shaken in his face, and devilish laughter rattled in his ears. The lady was gone, and Middleton fell full length on his studio floor. Middleton is a very devoted husband to Angela Dove. When he is well and cheerful, he blames himself for having made love to a model, and laughs at himself for having been fool enough to fancy--well, all sorts of rubbish. But when he is out of sorts he does not like to be complimented on his figure of Earthly Love, and he gives a shudder if he happens to come across an article which lies hidden in his cupboard--a perfect model of the human hand covered with black kid; the model is hollow, and there is a curious black mark inside it. And the earl? The earl was delighted with the panel. "Was she a professional model?" he asked. "She made it a matter of business with me," said Middleton uneasily. It was one of his bad days. "I must know that girl," continued the earl, with a cunning look in his eye. "I expect you will some day." "What's her name?" "I don't know. She didn't tell me." "Didn't she sign anything when you paid her?" "I haven't paid her yet." "But you're going to?" "I--I suppose so," answered Middleton. "Well, you'll find out who she is then. And, I say, Middleton, just let me know." "I will if I can--unless you've found it out before." The earl took up his hat with a sigh. "A glorious creature!" he said. "I hope I shall see her sometime."